


The Secret

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Drama, M/M, Murder Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Set in Post World War II era, Sherlock is a young nobleman who separates from his wealthy but narrow minded and stifling family to seek his own income and life. He takes up a job as the stay-at-home private tutor of a former army hero's home-schooled daughter. He has dreams of making it big on his own mettle but his adventure starts with a murder he witnesses first hand and the murderer turns out to be his new employer.
Relationships: JohnLock and MorMor (Minor), Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 61
Kudos: 16





	1. A Flirtatious Viscount

“Are you sure you want to do this? William Sherlock Scott Holmes, a handsome and smart young man of twenty three, a post-graduate from Cambridge University, working in a provincial manor as a tutor to a rich kid? It somehow doesn’t sit right. Maybe you should reconcile with your elder brother and father and work for your family business.”

Sherlock’s blue-green eyes looked both sad and indifferent. He smiled at the older man.

“Uncle Christopher, I am aware of the other option I have as well as the fact that my mother sent you here to make one last ditch effort to stop me,” he said, raising his voice a bit to be heard on the noisy platform. As they spoke, Sherlock’s tall and slim figure a total contrast to his Uncle Chris’ short and pudgy one, the busy travelers went about their own business around them. It was a Friday afternoon and many were taking that train to travel back to their counties, towns and villages for the weekend. “She should definitely have known by now that I am as stubborn as her other son or her husband. I am not changing my mind about this, you can tell her that. I’d rather work where I am respected and my opinions are value, my personal preferences and choices are not ridiculed etc.”

Chris sighed, “I understand. I am not blaming you son. But you’re a rich kid yourself. I somehow don’t see you working for someone else.”

“It will be a new thing but I shall manage, for sure. It’s not a regular office job but something different from that. As a rich kid I should understand another rich kid, don’t you think? As for the house where I am going, I have heard a lot about the man who’s my employer. A wealthy man but educated and accomplished, not some useless aristocrat with age-old values and archaic ideas. He is a war hero too, let’s not forget that and let’s also remember my wages. I am being paid a thousand pounds a month, plus lodging and food and an annual bonus of a further thousand. Which office can offer me that, a chemistry post grad?”

“None, I guess. It’s not that your mother and I, your uncle, don’t feel it’s a respectable job. It’s just all the adjustments and concessions you have to make to live in a strange household, amidst complete strangers and in a strange place.”

“Neither the county nor the village is strange. Please, I will be able to handle this. Just-Just allow me to be a grownup and do my own things first.”

As Sherlock said those things, he held back on a few words that almost threatened to spill out. The curt parting statement from his father or one of his elder brother Mycroft’s sarcastic remarks.

_“Fine, go out and explore the world if you don’t like what we say or do. Find a job, live on your own if you can. Your grandparents’ wealth might be equally split between us, Mycroft and yourself but till you are thirty your share is in my custody, don’t you forget that.”_

_“Don’t worry daddy. He will be back in a week’s time. The luxuries he is used to, the kind of support he has always had, his own car and an allowance greater than a bank manager, let’s see how he manages to get by on a paycheck.”_

_“No son of mine is a sodomite.” “Oh I think the slogan should be - men beware of Sherlock.”_

Sherlock blinked as a small bag was placed in his hands. His uncle seemed to be pleading him silently to keep it. Sherlock thought he would but when unzipping the bag yielded at least thirty thousand pounds in cash and some jewels and personal items worth a further twenty, he balked. “No, I just can’t do this….” He began when Chris stopped him by raising a hand. “No, go on and take it. This is from Eugenia, this is from my dear sister and your loving mother. She has done nothing to earn your refusal and impudence. She has always supported you, as far as I can remember, and I don’t think your headstrong nature should eventually bring about your doom.”

“But this is too much….”

“All part of your own inheritance. Your mummy just wants you to be comfortable, have a cushion. Don’t make your mum suffer for something she hasn’t done.”

“Oh well, okay, if you put it that way then I’ll take it! But I will be able to pull through and live within my means, I assure you.”

“I am sure you will be. And even if things become too unbearable, you can write to me. I will help you without the knowledge of your brother or father. I see no reason why my dear, talented nephew, a brilliant student and an amazing young man, should suffer due to a family fallout. You stand to inherit nearly three million pounds son, to see you work somewhere for monthly wages is a travesty.”

“Oh Chris,” Sherlock smiled and shook his head in amusement and disagreement, “The world is changing. My father is a Lord but I don’t intend to be. I want to be the face of change in our family which is slowly becoming a fossil in this modern world. The year is 1950, not 1850. Working for someone, doing a job is not as bad as people used to make it out to be!”

As he had just finished that sentence, the train’s shrill hoot could be heard. People started to hop on the train while some of those who were aboard to bid goodbye started to hop off. Sherlock gave his uncle a one-armed hug and tipped his hat, “So long Chris. I shall see you when I see you but definitely not before six months. Maybe Easter.”

“What? You won’t be back for Christmas?”

“No, apparently I am not expected, invited or desired in that gathering.”

Before Christopher could answer, Sherlock picked up his large suitcase, his trunk and the smaller bag, as well as the backpack he was carrying and somehow managed to board the train just as it had begun to move. As it chugged out of the platform, he stood there waving at his young nephew.

“This journey, this stint will either make you or break you,” he murmured as Sherlock’s waving figure grew smaller and smaller and disappeared in the distance, “As your well-wisher I hope it makes you more than it breaks you.”

***

It was a first-class compartment.

Sherlock was impressed by the generosity shown by his employer.

Not only was the salary fairly generous, so were the perks. This first class ticket, along with luncheon and a glass of wine was not expected. It almost made him feel like he was still Sherlock Holmes, son of Lord Reginald Holmes, member of House of Lords and the owner and holder of the Kenilworth estate. Or the younger brother of the group chairman of the Holmes Corporation _. No, no, no, you can’t do this Sherlock, you have to separate yourself from the luxuries and opulence, the privileges and entitlements of your family and background. Only that way will you grow up and make a name of your own. Don’t be foolish, move on and be your own man._

“Right,” Sherlock murmured.

“Excuse me?”

That came from a fellow traveler in the same compartment. He was a man wearing an expensive suit and a watch that was the latest Rolex model. He seemed suave and sophisticated and was smiling pleasantly at him. Sherlock’s socially awkward side surfaced immediately and he squirmed in his seat, turned away from the man when he realized he had spoken out aloud, and mumbled, “It’s nothing.”

“Are you quite sure?” The other man asked, laughter audible in his voice, “It seemed you were having an argument with yourself in your head and finally came to a conclusion as to which side you belong to. It’s been nearly an hour since we left Victoria station at London and this is the first time you seem to be back in this compartment here.”

“If you don’t mind…. That is my own personal business.”

“Of course, sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

But that stranger was not giving up despite the snub from Sherlock. He apparently wanted to talk, know him, keep the conversation going, despite Sherlock’s best efforts to ignore him. In a polished manner he continued, “My name is Vincent Spaulding. Viscount Vincent David John Spaulding. I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

Sherlock sighed. This was going to be an interesting journey indeed. A great coach, luxury compartment, a gourmet lunch and a talkative, nosey companion. No, not just nosey but also flirtatious.

“It’s luncheon hour soon,” said his fellow passenger, “Would you like to join me please?”

“Join you where?”

“Dining car.”

“I intend to dine here, by myself.”

“Oh is that so? I see, okay. Actually, even my original plan was to do so. You see, I don’t like to dine in a public place all by myself. I’d rather prefer some company. The company of a handsome and sophisticated man would be a great pleasure indeed but in the absence of that, a meal off a tray here in this compartment is not too bad an idea, what say?”

Sherlock blinked with surprise at the sudden change in his decision and the swift rate at which this attractive but forceful Viscount had started to openly flirt with him. Within the first few minutes he had begun to ask him questions, expressed a desire to have a meal with him, begun complimenting him, and Sherlock hadn’t even told his name till then. _Goodness Gracious!_ The gentleman was coming on to him so strongly now that Sherlock found the air in the compartment too less and the surroundings too stuffy. Love had eluded him for years after a certain heartbreak in the past and he didn’t intend to go back there again. _Never again!_ “You can have your meal anywhere you like,” he said as curtly as possible, rising to his feet, “Here, dining car or the roof for all I care. If you’ll excuse me now, I need to go to the washroom.”

“Um mister…..”

“Now what?”

“The washroom is attached.”

Sherlock blushed beetroot red from that silly mistake and looked everywhere, hoping to be swallowed by the earth. He had no idea what to say so he blindly rushed out of the compartment, pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and went to stand by the coach door. He yanked it open and lit up a Marlboro, blowing out a smoke ring or two.

He heard a strange noise and immediately knew someone was coming closer, from the way the footsteps thumped and the stick tapped. It was the sound of a lame man who walked with support. True to his assumption, he turned and almost collided with a middle aged man in a heavy overcoat and wide rimmed hat, sunglasses on. He had a slight limp and walked with a stick.

“Close the door young man and don’t smoke here. The smoking area is the platform at the end. Don’t you British kids have any manner left at all?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to snap at him but words failed him. He had indeed broken the rules and there was no reason nor excuse to do so. He tossed the cigarette and closed the door but by then the man had disappeared. He seemed to be in a hurry to leave. He realized he hadn’t seen anything of the man except his mustache, a long one and curled luxuriantly at the ends.

This time when Sherlock turned the corner to get back to the compartment, he again collided with another fellow passenger. Gosh, what a day it was! Idiot in the compartment, someone scolding him, another running into him. The other man was blond and shorter than him but strong as an ox and Sherlock involuntarily went ‘ouch’ as he was struck.

“Sorry,” the other man said, briefly touching his cheek. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture of apology and Sherlock would have thought even this man was flirting, had he not simply run off and rushed towards the dining car with great urgency and speed. “Must be really starving,” Sherlock murmured as he stood there, undecided as to whether he should go back into his compartment or just head for the dining car to have his meal there.

“Lunch for you sir,” a steward came from the dining car side, smiling at him. He was carrying two trays, balanced precariously in his two hands, loaded with food and glasses of water and wine. “Compartment 12 I assume. Your friend the Viscount informed me a couple of minutes ago that your meals were to be brought there. After you sir, let me serve you there.”

“He what?” Sherlock was shocked at the audacity of this man. Not only had he chased him off with his flirting, he was now drawing him back with his manipulation. How dare he! Telling the steward a lie and luring him into the compartment, so he could put him into further unease??? He stomped towards his compartment and entered it angrily, determined to tick this Viscount off when he saw that a third passenger had arrived there when he was not around. A young and friendly brunette, about his age and well-dressed. She smiled broadly at him, her eyes sparkling. _That’s just what I need, one flirt and one admirer, all in this ten feet by twelve feet compartment. Great, when is my stop….. shit, it’s almost two hours from here._

Still, she seemed a decent woman and she was a lady after all, he couldn’t be rude. He smiled back blandly at her.

“Hello, I am Molly Christina Hooper.”

“I am William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

“I would have sworn you are one of the heirs of the Holmes estate and group of companies, had I not known better.”

That was the comment from Mr. Nosey Parker, the Viscount, and this time Sherlock gave it back to him. “I happen to be just that person. Not sure what you mean by ‘knowing better’. People like me do not travel by train is it?”

“They do,” answered Vincent Spaulding with a small nod, “I was just not too sure someone could be so perfect. Good looking, educated, smart, an heir on top of that, a very wealthy man indeed! Usually people lack in some department, like me???”

Molly got the picture and smiled, concealing that behind her hand as she covered her mouth. She seemed amused and also curious. “Look Mr. Spaulding, I am not going to…..” Sherlock began angrily when Molly, sensing that she was somehow in the way and the two men might have a history, quickly got up with her dainty handbag. “Um, gentlemen, you’ll need some space to have your meal. I’ll have my lunch and be back later.”

“Sure My Lady,” Vincent tipped his hat.

Molly gave him another look and left, this time amusing Vincent who started to chuckle. Sherlock felt like jumping out of the train. “What is so funny huh?” He asked, getting more annoyed by the minute.

“Oh it’s nothing William,” Vincent Spaulding answered, waving his arm dismissively, “It seems you can’t help draw people like moths to a flame, wherever you go, be it any sex, any age, huh? What else explains that a young woman of twenty-one is as enamored by you as thirty six year old me, a man, a nobleman on top of that?”

Sherlock was irritated to the core.

But seeing no other way to argue with the man or shut him up, Sherlock sat down for his meal and muttered, “I don’t like conversations while I am eating. But just so you know, I am not known as William but as Sherlock.”


	2. The Murder in the Coupe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock witnesses a murder as his new life starts off on ominous notes

Fortunately for Sherlock, Vincent did respect his decision not to talk during lunch and save for a few comments around how nice the food was and how the wine could be better, he didn’t say anything else over the next half an hour. The meal was indeed very delicious so Sherlock enjoyed it heartily, temporarily ignoring and almost forgetting his co-passenger. He did full justice to the entrée of grilled partridge with plum sauce, couscous and steamed root vegetables, besides the devilled eggs for appetizer and the dessert cake and coffee served later by the same steward.

“Thank you my man,” the Viscount Spaulding handed the steward a royal tip which made him really happy. He thanked both of them profusely and left.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at that statement. His collar length curly dark brown hairs were flying wild in the strong wind blowing in through the open windows. They had opened both, to let out the smell of food. “Oh in case you were wondering why he seemed to show gratitude towards us and not just me,” Vincent went on, eyeing Sherlock’s rosy cheeks, “He probably thinks we are friends. And that’s all I want us to be Sherlock. Just friends to begin with. I know I might be a bit too forward for you but I swear I am not a bad man. You’re getting cold, allow me.” With that he got up and tried to close the windows.

“No don’t,” Sherlock said, thinking he had perhaps overreacted, “I’m enjoying the breeze actually.”

“I want you to enjoy the journey too. So I’ll shut up now.”

“No that’s okay. I think I was a …..” Sherlock could not finish the statement. Something happened that took his breath away and made him believe in the words ‘You never know what life has in store for you and what happens next.’ The train started to enter a long tunnel. The compartment began to get darker.

What happened thereafter would become one of the most defining moments of his life. He caught a glimpse of the man, the same man who had collided with him, entering the compartment brandishing a revolver. He was wearing a long, dark trench-coat, a cravat and a hat that covered his neck and head completely, dark trousers and heavy boots. His expression was severe, intense! Had it not been for their earlier meeting in the corridor outside Sherlock wouldn’t have had a chance to note his facial features properly. All he saw were his eyes, light brown orbs, glowing with rage. A shot rang out as everything went dark.

Sherlock heard a thud, then sounds of footsteps receding. Then, as the train left the tunnel and daylight streamed in through the open windows again, Sherlock saw the already-dead Vincent Spaulding lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

He had been shot through the head.

***

Sherlock didn’t even have the time to digest this incident when he heard an earsplitting scream.

Molly’s scream. Followed by the ‘Oh Christ’ from another passenger who was in the next compartment.

Sherlock temporarily forgot his own fears and shock and consoled a distraught Molly who was totally panic stricken and unable to control herself. She grabbed hold of Sherlock the moment he approached her to support her and started sobbing uncontrollably, saying ‘Oh my God, oh my God, I just spoke to him and now he is dead, so much blood, oh my God’. The other man was an old man and he started hyperventilating at the sight before him, which was quite ghastly indeed. The dead man’s eyes were open and fixed right at the door, a look of horror frozen in them forever. “Please,” Sherlock requested, “Call the conductor or the steward or someone.”

  
“Oh yeah, sure, sure!”

As it turned out, the other passengers and crew had heard the shot and soon the place was milling with a dozen people, some shrieking, some gasping, others making a quick exit after realizing what had happened. Someone pulled the chain, saying the next stop was almost there and, as it turned out, it was the very stop which was Sherlock’s destination in Worcestershire. Hallow, about three miles from the outskirts of Worcester.

“Please, step out of there sir, ma’am,” said the conductor. He was joined by his assistant and a few stewards who kept people at bay and asked them to calm down. Sherlock helped Molly, who had calmed down somewhat, to step out of the compartment and into the corridor. Both of them were offered glasses of water, which they promptly and gratefully drank before returning the empty glasses. “The local inspector will be arriving soon,” said the conductor, “Are you both alright?”

“I guess I am, somewhat,” Sherlock commented.

Molly swallowed and wiped at her teary face, “I-I am okay too.”

Sherlock felt a bit bad about the fact that he was secretly grateful for one more thing. The train had made an unusual stop. He was supposed to alight at Worcester city and take the transport, sent for him by his employer, to the village. Now he would get off of the train at the village.

But time that was saved in transport would no doubt be gone in police interrogation. It did strike him that he could also be considered a suspect.

As it turned out later, Sherlock was not the suspect at all. The assailant, whom no one had really seen, had bumped into the old man and passed by Molly who were both in the corridor when the train was passing through the tunnel. So their version matched well with Sherlock’s.

The interrogation happened at the platform, in the waiting room with the station master present. The local inspector was a man named Lestrade. Gregory Lestrade. He was a handsome man of about forty, very fit and agile and quite sharp.

“Can you tell me anything about this man, anything at all,” he asked Sherlock.

Sherlock was taken aback. “I only just met him over the two and half hour journey, that’s all. How am I supposed to even know anything about him?”

“Well, it seems that in his luggage there was a gift for you and a card attached, which said ‘To Sherlock, a token of my admiration, friendship and our future, hopefully a great one – Vincent’. Doesn’t seem like it was written by a man who had met you only hours earlier. On the other hand a short romance or fling seems to be entirely possible.”

Sherlock shook his head, disagreeing thoroughly. “A lot of things can be ‘entirely possible’ if you put them up as assumptions and guesswork Inspector. I know that, as the keeper of the law, you have to suspect everyone and I was conveniently over there, a low hanging fruit for you to pick. But you’ll be making a really huge mistake if you let that distract you from the real criminal, the one who collided with Mr. Graham Smit in the next compartment and brushed past Molly Hooper. As for this gift - I have no idea where that gift came from. This note, it was written by him and there’s no response from me. It could have been one-sided and I was not a participant in the whole thing, not even enthusiastic about this, don’t you think that’s possible too?”

“I am sorry,” Greg Lestrade said, “I didn’t want to offend you. Even if you were involved with him, you wouldn’t be the prime suspect. If you wanted to kill him, why would you stay right there and wait for us to come over and interrogate you.”

“Thanks for realizing that.”

“But seriously, did you not know he harbored feelings for you?”

“He did keep flirting with me. I knew he was interested but I was simply not interested in him in any way. Initially I was quite annoyed and upset and even got rude with him when he wasn’t stopping despite my insistence that he back off. Now of course I feel a bit bad about the way I spoke to him. Had I know he was about to……”

“Yeah, I think we all feel that way about a deceased person. But how were you to know when they’d pass?! This man, this Viscount’s death was unexpected. A perfectly healthy young man…… anyways, don’t be too hard on yourself. If I were to believe your version, his constant flirting must have been extremely irritating.”

Sherlock frowned, “If I may ask you something.”

“Go on,” Greg said.

“I thought about me being a queer…… it would disturb you, disgust you.”

“No, it doesn’t. Don’t worry. The whole country might view that in a different way but over here, in our village and surroundings….. people are fairly tolerable. We have a ‘don’t ask’ and ‘don’t tell’ policy. We don’t complain, don’t explain, don’t gossip and let people live their lives. Is this the reason why….?”  
  


“No, no, I wasn’t denying anything out of fear but because it was the truth. Anyways, I can describe the man who had shot the Viscount. Would you want me to?”

“By all means,” Greg Lestrade said, “How did he look? I hope you can describe him because no one else can. He was in that compartment, then the corridor, possibly in the next coach and the dining car too. Yet no one took notice of him.”

“I don’t blame them,” Sherlock said, by now a lot steadier in terms of nerves, “He was wearing clothes and a hat and had most of himself covered. Face hardly visible. It’s only because I collided with him earlier in the corridor that I saw he had blond hair and brown eyes. Not very helpful, I know, but there was no other distinguishing factor about him. He was attractive but like other attractive people, nothing different. I mean, he had no moles or any flaws or distinctive features to speak of.”

“Hmmm,” Greg Lestrade said gravely, studying the notes he had taken in his diary notebook, “Thanks, at least you confirmed what we should be looking for. But then….. We are getting nowhere like this either. I must also say, we haven’t seen or heard of a crime in our area for several years now. Therefore I have to admit this excites me from an investigation perspective but with very little to go on, it also makes me wonder if it would be a wild goose chase. He could be an assailant who was hired to do this; after all these noblemen have their enemies and he seemed to be a top grade flirt and also a queer fellow. Or simply someone who hates homosexuals…. Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to….. you know, hint at you in any way Mr. Holmes.”

“That’s okay,” Sherlock admitted something inadvertently, “I know my brother would, if he could get away with any kind of murder.”

“Sorry about that.”

“May I go now?”

“You may. But please give your address and if possible a home phone number as well. You will need to come here as often as we summon you, to help us with the case.”

“Sure. I will do my duty as a citizen but please don’t involve handcuffs and revolvers in this,” Sherlock laughed, getting fidgety by now.

Greg noticed that and asked, “You okay?”

“My employer is expecting me by 4 PM and it’s going to be so in just fifteen minutes. This job is very important for me and I’d hate to cast a wrong impression on them on the very fast day. Who likes a tutor who is tardy? That way the little one will not find a very good role model in me!”

“Oh, you will be going to Dr. John Watson’s house? Glenn Manor! Why didn’t you tell me so! I would have interviewed you over there. You see, John is a decorated war hero and a surgeon per excellence. Very respected around these parts. He is also a very wealthy man and owns half of the village practically. The other half is owned by Colonel Sebastian Moran. They are neighbors. Come on, I shall drop you there. You needn’t give me any details of your employer then, these I already know.”

***

Glenn Manor was on the edge of the village. It was in a place called Orchid Avenue and Sherlock could see why. It was a beautiful street, about a mile long, lined with beautiful rhododendron and juniper trees. At the beginning there were a few cottages, about six of them with one being the biggest with some acreage around. Up ahead were the two sprawling properties, as Greg pointed out, the two luxury mini-mansions facing each other across that street.

On the left was Glenn Manor, belonging to Dr. John Watson, former captain in the army and a military surgeon. Now he was a specialty surgeon at the Worcester Beecham Hospital. On the right was ‘MorMor Villa’, which was in fact a bit bigger than the manor and owned by Colonel Sebastian Augustus Moran.

As Greg left, saying he would be in touch, Sherlock took a look at the property. The boundary wall was at least seven feet high and had glass shards embedded on top to prevent easy scaling of the wall. The place was quiet, only the sounds of birds and insects and nothing else. There was a sense of peace and a unique charm attached to the manor that he found quite interesting. As Sherlock rang the bell outside, an old man in his mid-sixties emerged from a small gate house attached to the boundary wall and opened the rustic wood and iron gate. He saluted John and introduced himself as the gatekeeper Barnes. “We have been expecting you. I shall take your luggage inside sir,” he said politely, relieving Sherlock of most of his bags and the trunk, “If you go down that driveway please, you’ll see it turns to the right and behind those maple trees up there is the manor. Mr. Gooch, the butler, he is waiting for you at the porch. Welcome to Glenn Manor Mr. Holmes.”

“Thank you.”

The driveway was at least five hundred meters and lined by maple and poplar trees, lamp posts and a few sitting benches. On one side was a lush lawn and the other side was a garden, with several other trees, neatly trimmed hedges separating different kinds of blooms, a green house and a small cottage which he assumed belonged to the groundskeeper. True to the old gatekeeper’s words, the driveway turned and almost immediately the manor came into view.

Sherlock stood there, taking in that sight.

It was indeed a very beautiful manor. Not very high, only two floors, but it occupied a lot of space and was spread around in a semi circular shape. The lawns ended where a marble fountain began and the fountain ended where the portico began. On top of the portico was a terrace with blooming potted plants, awash with sunshine and a few chairs surrounding a central table. Probably a nice place to have some breakfast!

“Good evening sir,” a heavy voice greeted him and he saw the butler, a man about his height and in his early middle age. Immaculately dressed and impeccable manners, he was the quintessential butler reminding him of what he had heard of in the Victorian and Edwardian era.

“Mr. Gooch.”

  
“Mr. Holmes sir, welcome to Glenn Manor and Hallow village.”

“Thank you. Happy to be here.” 

A grand foyer and hall were the first things beyond the front door and a magnificent curved staircase took one upstairs. The walls of the hall were painted with scenes from ‘Paradise Regained’ and the ornate doors had a charm that was straight off the earlier century’s artistic highs. One door led to a hallway lined with several rooms, the other led into a ballroom and thenceforth to a banquet hall.

It was all grand and elegant but also modern, in both fittings and fixtures as well as the décor and amenities. John visualized his employer as a man of fifty, a widower, a typical society gentleman but with a curiosity towards everything contemporary and an open mind when it came to embracing change. A man wearing a slightly outdated hairstyle but modern clothes.

The butler’s smooth but deep voice brought him out of his reverie. “This floor is all about the reception rooms, ballrooms, dining rooms, banquet room, library, study, tea room and parlor sir. The kitchen, galley etc are downstairs, basement. My pantry and quarters are there too, as is the wine cellar. Twelve bedrooms upstairs, which includes two master bedroom suites. I’m afraid this house isn’t very populated though. We are not a traditional countryside family where the patriarch is a peer and has a title. Our employer is a total modernist and so are myself and my wife Mrs. Pamela Gooch. She is also little Rosamunde’s nanny and looks after her. Besides us we have the cook, Ruth, and we have gatekeeper Barnes and groundskeeper Malcolm. We don’t have a retinue serving and living here. A maid and a servant visit every day to assist with the cleaning and cooking, work from morning to evening and go back home in the village.”

“I see,” Sherlock remembered their own house, a castle almost, with its fifty rooms and twenty staff and twice the size of grounds as what he saw here. He knew first hand how it felt to live in a house where one literally had to walk for ten minutes to reach the other side and look for another ten to find another family member. Where there were more rooms than one could remember and each room had a ‘name’. The butler continued, “The master of the house is out. You know, he is a doctor. He was called suddenly for some reason. He’ll be back before dinner.”

“That’s fine. Can I meet Rosamunde?”

“Rosy will be in her nursery upstairs. I have to show you your room as well. Sir, this way.”

“Oh there is an elevator!”

“Yes, one of the symbols of modernism. It helps us a lot too, from basement to the rooftop, all four floors covered by the push of a single button.”

“Well said Gooch. If you don’t mind me asking…..” The man gave him a warm smile and said, “Graham. Graham Gooch!”

***

Rosamunde turned out to be an angel. Her gladness at seeing Sherlock was exacerbated by the fact that he could paint and mimic and knew how to play the violin. A friendly and vibrant but somewhat lonely and shy child, she made a strange comment when they were both alone. “You won’t go away like the earlier tutors, will you? Both of them left. They were good to me but daddy said they were both tricksters and not suited to the house.”

_Oh so he is picky and judgmental. Now that’s the sort who have high standards for everything!_ Sherlock smiled encouragingly but gave her a realistic expectation to hold on to. “I have no idea if I can meet your daddy’s high expectations,” he explained to the excited child, “But I shall make every effort to do so! With your help of course. If you tell me what makes him happy and what he disliked, it will make things easier on me. Deal?”

Rosy made the deal instantly and gave him a list of all the things her father appreciated. Sherlock was relieved that after all the ordeal on the train, things were finally going in the right direction.


	3. A Nasty Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets the murderer from the train, again.

Sherlock learned that John loved good food and golf, he enjoyed Hollywood films and classical music, he liked reading books on military campaigns, dynasties and detective stories and adventures, he appreciated punctuality, neatness and being articulate. On the dislike side he was not too fond of loud people, selfish people, people who bragged or people who lied. Like most men of his background he hated inaction and wanted to be outdoors often. “He says he likes people who are clever and have a sense of tortoise…..” she paused, stuck her tongue out and corrected herself, “Primrose, primrose, the word is-is….. prip…. purp….. I think.”

Seeing her struggle he corrected her gently. “Purpose?”

“Purpose!!! Yes, you are so clever Mr. Holmes.”

“Sherlock.”

  
“Shehr-lochhh.”

“Yes, that would do! But I don’t think this makes me intelligent really. A man of my age should know better than this. But I promise you Rosy, I won’t disappoint your father and I won’t go away in a month’s time like your former tutors did. Those gentlemen…..”

  
“No-o,” she shook her head from side to side, curls bouncing, “They were ladies, like I shall be in future.”

He was about to say she already was a little lady when she looked at the doorway and exclaimed, “Daddy!!!” Clearly she loved her father and rushed towards the man. Before Sherlock could turn he heard his employer, Rosie’s father, compliment him. “I must say I am impressed. Rosy normally takes a while to get used to a stranger. She seems to have taken such a shine to you that it took her almost five minutes to even notice I am here…..”

The sentence was cut off midway.

Sherlock had turned to face the man. His smile faded and the color drained from his cheeks just as the color drained from the other man’s face too. They both stood facing each other, temporarily everything else around them blurring into nothingness.

“Y-You…..” Sherlock murmured. He couldn’t even hear what Rosy was saying. The little girl was talking in the background, praising Sherlock. He doubted if her father, Dr. John Watson, _aka the murderer from the train_ and the _same one_ he’d collided with and seen brandishing a revolver, could hear her either.

***

Sherlock thought a bad joke was being played on him.

Of all the places in the world he had to find employment here, in the home of a man who had killed someone. Of all the people in the world, that murder had to happen right under his nose. Of all the bad luck in the world, he was sure he had the lion’s share because he wished he hadn’t known this terrible secret. Maybe blissful ignorance could have served him much better here, in this case.

He came downstairs for dinner after spending almost an hour in the shower and standing in the walk-in closet, shrouded in a trance of some sort. The decision was hard and awkward for him, whether to report his employer to the police or simply stay quiet and pretend he knew nothing. But the second option felt like a selfish move, an illegal step and his conscience would never forgive him for that. On the other hand if he got the doctor into jail he wouldn’t have the job and he’d be back to square one again. He didn’t want to go back home, not even if it was until he found another job. He simply couldn’t hear his old man and his preachy older brother tell him he was an immature kid who loved being a rebel without a cause and that he needed…..

….. treatment for his ‘disease’ – homosexuality.

Eventually he decided that a night of torment was unavoidable. He would need to sleep over this decision and see what was the best way to go forward. It was a murder after all and naturally he would have to deal with the situation appropriately, with afterthought and careful considerations and not take a knee-jerk decision. But whatever he did, he had to report this man to the police. The question was only about how and when!

John Watson had turned and left the room without a further word then. Now he would be in the dining room, the smaller family dining room as he was told, expecting him for dinner. Sherlock rehearsed a few lines, hoping he didn’t fumble when the conversation eventually happened.

He also hoped the man was not going to harm him. Not that he was terrified. He could defend himself. He had a gun too, gifted on his twenty first birthday by his father. For security purposes, licensed and legally approved.

As the clock struck eight, there was a soft knock on his door.

“Come in Gooch,” he called out. He was dressed already. He just had to finish combing his hair and splashing some aftershave on his cheeks.

“I see you have a very strong nerve.”

The aftershave bottle dropped from his hands. John was standing there, looking at him intently. Brown eyes that seemed kindly earlier had hardened beyond imagination, the expression blazing and decidedly dangerous. Sherlock picked up the bottle and muttered, “You’re a murderer.”

“So I am.”

“How proudly you say that!”

In a flash Sherlock became aware of the man this former army captain was. From an amicable, friendly and debonair gentleman he became a dangerous, angry beast and Sherlock found himself pinned to the wall and John’s surprisingly strong arms gripping his sides so tight he was sure fingerprints would be left there the following day.

But to his utter dismay this close proximity also made his heckles rise and not in a good way. He felt himself get half hard and recognized a huge weakness in himself – he responded sexually to domination and power. _Oh God no, not here, not now, not with this man, not with a merciless murderer…._

“Listen to me and listen good Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” John’s voice was barely controlled, rage, fury and threat evident in equal proportions in it, “I had my reasons to kill that bastard, that scheming maneater and womanizer, someone who deserved that fate. If I had a way I would have surely given him a fate _worse that that_. I have my reasons for that and I shall NEVER ever apologize for it. And you, as my employee, will tow the line and keep your blood mouth shut or else…..” his voice suddenly became smooth and low, but Sherlock knew better than to think he was any less dangerous than a moment ago. “…..Or else… wha-at?” He asked cautiously, his slightly terrified eyes on John’s face which was only a few inches from his own.

“Or else, I might have to ruin you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Let go of me.”

“Not until you agree to stay mum and acknowledge your understanding of the situation you are in.”

“I cannot…. Fuck, what are you doing?!?”

The grip on his arms had become so painfully tight that Sherlock winced. He pushed John away with all his strength and tried to run out of the room but a strong hand grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him back, then effortlessly flung him on the bed in front of them. Sherlock was not giving up and he fought back with hands and legs, only to realize this man was trained in martial arts. Sherlock himself was a strong man; fit and agile too, he did his jogs and hikes and cycling almost daily to maintain himself. But even he couldn’t cope with this man who expertly twisted his arm and locked him down on his side on the bed.

“I got to hear that the bastard had been thinking of asking you out and they found a gift in his luggage, written to your name. You know what I could do? I could say you organized the crime and threatened me with a blackmail.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah, not to mention what happens whenever homosexuality or even a hint of it makes an appearance in our country’s papers.”

“You wouldn’t…..”

“Heavens, _why not_? Why the hell not? I see no obligations towards you at all. Unless of course you scratch my back and I scratch yours. In that case, yep, we both protect each other and everyone stays happy. What do you say Mr. Holmes, younger son of Lord Reginald Holmes and younger brother of Baronet Mycroft Holmes, the British entrepreneur of the year in 1949?”

Sherlock froze at those words, his eyes widening totally. That was the _last thing he needed_ – This man finding out about his heritage, family and background. But clearly this was an effort John had put in recently, perhaps after realizing that he was in a compromised position with the young aristocrat. _Gosh, he has done his homework and truly cornered me. I feel my hands are tied almost! I clearly underestimated him completely._ “Don’t take me to be a man with feet of clay, Holmes,” John growled at him, “If you as much as try to breathe out my secret, I will not only expose you as a homosexual I will also get this into the papers, then watch as fireworks explode in your elevated world, with your father and brother especially. You stay quiet and so do I. A secret for a secret – Got that?”

Sherlock’s anger started to fade, replaced by a fear and apprehension. His face grew ashen and he made a sound of utter disgust and loathing.

“What?” John made a face and said cruelly, “Alright to keep your own and not alright to keep mine? What a totally despicable sad little character you are! Nothing but a pretty face heh? Or one of those young aristocrats who think it’s fashionable to go slumming for a while. Well, we happen to be a powerful group too, the affluent and the upper middle class, with political views and strong opinions. Mess with us and you will find your lily white arse whupped good.”

“Don’t fucking touch me…..” Sherlock finally threw John off and grabbed a heavy ashtray. He wanted to slam it on the other man’s face but John moved away with great alacrity and the heavy artifact fell from Sherlock’s hand on the rug instead. He was once again chased around the room and slammed face down on the loveseat in the corner. John’s breath was hot on his ear, his voice sinister and dark, “Control yourself Sherlock or you may be very sorry.”

  
“I-I don’t have to put up with a monster like you. I am leaving…. I shall go immediately.”

“On the contrary you will NOT. My daughter Rosamunde likes you very much. In fact I saw her truly happy for the first time in over a year. If you break my daughter’s heart I shall break your mother’s heart. I know which club she goes to. Remember one thing - once a murderer, always a murderer.”

Sherlock managed to escape John again and moved to the farthest corner of the room. “No,” he was aghast at the man’s tyranny, “You will not hurt my mother.”

“I have no reason to, not if you don’t hurt me or my daughter or my prospects. Forget what you saw on the train and throw that secret away forever. I am a good paymaster, I treat my staff well so you can imagine how a tutor will be treated - with great respect and privileges. Enjoy or perish, all your choice!”

Calm down Sherlock, stop battling now. You can always escape. You can always reach the cops without him knowing. But John seemed to have pre-empted that move. “If you try to talk to the cops,” he said in an ominous tone, “An unknown assailant may do the same thing to your mummy dearest as what I did to that swine. Now, compose yourself and come downstairs for dinner.”

“No, I don’t want to eat with a man like you. A _murderer, liar and manipulator_. You are blackmailing me, it’s you who is the swine. Kill me if you must but you won’t make me go downstairs and eat with you, tonight and never ever.”

John merely raised an eyebrow and smiled evilly. “Rosamunde expects to dine with you. I allowed her to have her dinner an hour late, just so she could have dinner with the ‘gorgeous and splendid Mr. Holmes’. Disappoint and upset her and hell hath no fury like a father whose daughter’s been hurt.”

***

Sherlock slept rather badly that night. He hadn’t expected to sleep at all so he was happy he got some hours at least, even though they were frequently disrupted by fragment dreams. He had seen John become a sea-monster, engulf his ship in waves and fling him on an island. The next moment he saw his father standing on the deck of the ship as he struggled in the waters below, shaking his head in disapproval. A shark swam at him and transformed into Mycroft at the last moment while the deceased Viscount Spaulding grabbed his leg from underwater somewhere and said, “I wanted to propose to you, dear Sherlock Holmes!”

He woke up to the repeated knocks on his door. When he answered it, a young chubby maid was standing there with his tea. “Oh thanks,” he said, stepping aside and inhaling the sweet scent of those fine Darjeeling tea leaves in boiling water, “I needed that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on Monday. I am off on a short vacation (skiing, yay)


	4. A Failed Attempt at Escaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock realizes he is trapped

“Good morning and you’re welcome sir,” she spoke in that unpolished accent used in those parts and quickly set the tray down on a low table next to the bed. She went over to the windows and pushed the drapes apart, revealing a slightly cloudy day outside. “Mrs. Gooch asked me to ask you,” she continued, eyes on the floor, “If you’d like to have your breakfast in your room today or the breakfast room downstairs? Miss Rosamunde’s tutoring sessions with you don’t start until ten am so it’s up to you, an early breakfast here or a late breakfast downstairs!”

“Am I not expected to have breakfast with Mr. Watson?”

“He has gone out sir. Won’t be back until dinner or perhaps later.”

“Oh I see. In that case, breakfast here please. And if Rosy can start her sessions an hour earlier. I’d like to go out into the village around noon, if possible.”

“Very well sir.”

Eventually Rosamunde did start her lessons at 9-30 am and naturally by 11-30 they were over. She would be learning music from him later on, around three-thirty pm, for about an hour. The little girl was bubbly and a quick and eager learner and for a brief while Sherlock forgot his precarious position and actually felt normal. But as soon as the happy haze settled over him he heard his inner voice call out.

_“This isn’t real you fool.”_

At midday he left for a walk to the village center, to clear his head and also find some way to escape or to report the murder. Staying in that house was stifling him, even without John being around. He had hardly gone till the end of Orchid Avenue when a car slowed down next to him. He heard the toot of a horn twice and turned, spotting a brand new Jaguar XK 120, in bright cherry red. A young man was sitting behind the wheel of the smart and shiny two-seater convertible and he was actually trying to get Sherlock’s attention. Seeing Sherlock turn he waved gleefully and went “Oi!” 

Sherlock stared unabashedly at him. He was cute and good looking and sexy too. As a man who liked other men, he couldn’t take his eyes off that brown headed man who seemed to be around the same age as he was and…. On a closer look…… somewhat familiar.

“If I am not mistaken aren’t you the actor and singer, James Murtagh?” Sherlock asked, recognizing the man from a magazine, a couple of movies and even a play he had seen the year before. An Irishman, a teenage sensation, had started becoming famous towards the end of the war and his popularity and success had spiraled skywards in the post-war era, with the entertainment and sports fields slowly returning to their original glory and shape. “Jimmy Moriarty is what I used to be called and how I am still addressed in my circle of friends, James Murtagh is the more famous name as you just said,” the dark haired stranger grinned, showing sparkling teeth and a rather fetching smile, “But I am more of a singer than an actor. Acting I do only occasionally.”

He took off his oversized goggles and said, “Anyways, the reason I stopped you…. I think I know you too. You are Mycroft’s younger brother…..”

“How do you know my brother? Sorry, didn’t mean to sound so rude.”

  
“You weren’t rude. Just surprised I guess. Anyways, can I give you a ride?”

Sherlock saw no reason not to and got in. As they drove down to the village James asked Sherlock to call him Jim and Sherlock also introduced himself. “You’ll ask the most obvious question then,” Sherlock said as he pushed his hairs back from his face, “Why do I need to work here?”

“You’re a queer.”

“Huh? How did you-you kn-know this?”

“I am one myself. Many men in performing arts are. I knew this the moment I saw you though, before I had even identified you as a Holmes. There is something about us that makes one homosexual man spot those trends in another one. I am right 99.99% of the time in identifying straights and homos.”

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. At least then he wouldn’t be shamed and squealed on. “I don’t have any reasons to worry, do I?”

“Not in this village or around our neighborhood. I live there with my partner, a man, Colonel Moran. Sebastian Moran.”

“Oh is that so? How lucky you are!”

Jim seemed quite proud of himself, “Absolutely! I don’t live a heteronormative life. My partner and I decided to be unconventional but discreet. In London we behave like friends. He and your employer, the doctor, happen to be the richest men in these parts. Our house is right opposite yours and besides John and Sebastian there is another former army-man, a certain Major Sholto who lives down the street, in that cottage with honeysuckle growing over the gate and pergola. You couldn’t have missed it, though not huge it’s a very pretty property and garden.”

“Yes I have seen it,” Sherlock confirmed. “They are very good friends,” Jim added.

They had reached the village and after Jim parked at a spot, the two men went off in their own directions to make some purchases. Sherlock saw a few envious glances at him and several heads turn towards Jim as they walked a short distance together, before branching out. Jim went to a store to fetch suits he had given for stitching while Sherlock quickly walked towards the police station. He had been pleasantly distracted by the conversation with Jim but the moment that came to an end, he remembered his situation and put all his efforts behind getting John caught and jailed. He was only a block away from the police station when he saw a familiar face emerge from a bank building on the left side. Inspector Greg Lestrade.

“Afternoon Inspector! I was coming over to see you in fact…..” Sherlock began when Lestrade interrupted him in a cheerful tone.

“Hello Mr. Holmes. Good to see you! How was the first day at work?”

“I am not entirely sure how it was Mr Lestrade. Yes, about that…..”

“Your employer and I happen to be very good friends you know. We go back a long way, pre-war days. He was a junior at my school and later a dear pal. No secrets between us, no grudges at all, no formalities or incumbrances. You may see me pop in at the manor any time without warning. I didn’t tell you yesterday because I was in inspector mode then, now of course there is a little time for a chitchat.”

Whatever Sherlock wanted to say died on his lips.

_What if he blabbed it out and this ‘friend’ decided to report everything to John instead of taking any action? What if he tried to transfer the blame on Sherlock and expose his queerness, based on the gift and card found in Viscount Vincent Spaulding’s bags! Or worse still, what if they wrote to his father and threw some random charges at him. Everything was possible._

“Do you wish to come into the station or shall we sit at a café?” Sherlock blinked at that, “Huh! Sorry, I didn’t get you!”

Greg narrowed his eyes, “You just said you were coming to see me. It seemed to me initially that you had something important to discuss. I thought maybe you have something else to highlight about this murder that took place last noon…. I know no one wants to remember such events but sometimes we have to do what we have to do?!”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to…. just wanted to….”

Greg listened intently, closely, he was all ears and eyes. Sherlock struggled to speak and noted the rigid body language of the inspector. It seemed as if Greg was also worried about the unsolved murder mystery, a bit more than his professional obligations allowed him to. “So?” The man checked again.

“No,” Sherlock quickly took a step back, “It’s nothing really.”

“This is for you.”

The sweet innocent voice of the child melted Sherlock’s heart but he was amused at the sight of the offering before him. It was a beautiful bracelet, in large yellow sapphires and tiny diamonds, set in shiny gold and the sample of excellent craftsmanship. “I want to give you something,” Rosy repeated, “This is yours. It belonged to my mommy and I am sure she will be okay if you have it!”

“Oh my child,” Mrs. Gooch came bustling into the room, “Wherever did you find that? Oh you wanna give it to Mr. Holmes?!? Nooo-oo darling, this is for a woman. You can’t give it to a man. Maybe we can give Mr. Holmes a nice card, a handmade card. You learned how to draw the sunrise, didn’t you?” When Rosamunde nodded enthusiastically she said, “Alright then, you can gift him something handmade. That is always the best gift, the most thoughtful. Remember my daughter used to make me those. Now she has a small baby of her own, so she doesn’t get much time. But Rosy has time to make one card for Mr. Holmes, doesn’t she? Okay then, good girl, give the bracelet to me now. There, there, thank you so much! Good girl!”

“She is right,” Sherlock said, “You can make me that card.”

“Okay,” she reluctantly gave back the bracelet, “Then you will get it tomorrow.”

“The wait will make it sweeter.”

“Does it?”

“Yes so often it does! Anyways, goodnight Rosy. It’s past your bedtime so off you go now!”

The butler came in just as the housekeeper/nanny left with the child. “It seems Dr. Watson will be late tonight. Shall I get your dinner now sir? It’s nine pm.”

“Yes so it is. Sure. Oh…. In the room, here, please!”

“Very well sir.”

“Oh and Graham?” Sherlock called out. As the butler turned he said, “I will take a walk in the grounds after dinner. I’ll lock up after I come back inside. You don’t need to wait.”

“Either my wife or I wait for the good doctor to return so we will be up, one of us at least,” Graham replied, “So waiting up isn’t a problem. Just wanted to tell you that none of us prefer that you should leave the premises so late in the night. So please, my request…. Our request is to stay within the compound walls of the property. Thank you sir.”

He walked out before Sherlock could respond. “But I….” he began but stopped as the door closed behind the butler. Sherlock sighed. What did this mean now? He was forbidden from going out? There was a nocturnal curfew? He was now trapped inside this place for as long as he lived? No-no, he couldn’t let that happen, not again. _His own house was a prison, now to jump into another prison, oh shit._

He strolled around the property, keeping a sharp eye on everything. However, even after half an hour, he couldn’t see a single chink in the armor of Glenn Manor. Walls were difficult to scale, with the height and glass shards on top. There were no trees near the wall, hence it was tough to swing from a branch and land outside. No part of the wall was broken. Even the side gates, two of them, were locked and inviolable. One couldn’t climb them or scale them.

It was a gilded cage.

Still, he wasn’t going to abandon all hopes and efforts. Sooner more than later he would find a way to get out of here and put some safe distance between himself and John Watson. Sherlock climbed a tree like a cat, being used to it as his parents owned a huge country house with sprawling acreage around it and he had been given a treehouse as a tenth birthday present. He was soon standing on a thick and sturdy branch nearly thirty feet above the ground and from there he could see the street outside, which ended right after the twin properties of Colonel Moran and Dr. John Watson. The dead end was a small patch of green with wild flowers growing in it. Across the street, past the compound wall of the next house, were the grounds of MorMor Villa. He could see the house in the distance, partially hidden by trees and topiary. For a moment he wondered if he could ask Jim for help.

_Nah. How can I? He already told me his partner was a good friend and former military comrade of John. This would get him into deeper trouble than he already was._

Suddenly he heard and saw movement in the bushes and clusters of small and stunted trees below and before he knew it a giant emerged. He pointed a gun at Sherlock and roared in a voice that was more like the rumbled of thunder than a human voice. “Come down from there this moment, right now!”

“Easy, relax, I am not a thief. I am….”

“Why are climbing trees at night like a thief then? Come down now.”

Which Sherlock did but he was very offended by the tone and manners (or rather lack of manners) of this man. Despite the fact that he was seven feet tall nearly and built like a wrestler, Sherlock stood up to him and snapped, “Don’t you dare talk to me like that. Or I shall report you to Gooch.”

“To Dr. Watson too. But in the morning. For now, go inside. This is an order, from our employer.”

“How dare you? Have you no…..”

“I am doing my duty. My intent was not to upset you but if you don’t go inside right now I might have to further obey my orders and carry you indoors physically. I don’t want to do that and you won’t like it either. Please do remember that all of us have to live by the discipline of this house and match our employer’s expectations. If that’s a problem for you, please do address it with him later. But at this moment you……”

“No need to repeat it like a stuck record, I heard you the first time,” Sherlock didn’t see any reason to keep arguing, not when he saw that the other man was armed and physically far superior to him in terms of sheer savage strength. “Goodnight Mr. Holmes,” the man said as Sherlock made his way back to the manor, muttering under his breath.

***

“I seriously _object to this.”_

Those were Sherlock’s precise words as he strode into John’s study, which was an extension of his library room. He had been seething with rage all night and for the second straight night he hadn’t slept well. Naturally he was a bit cranky and the lingering resentment over his treatment in the hands of the groundskeeper had annoyed him even further.

“And pray what do you exactly object to Mr. Holmes?” John looked up from his writing, raising an eyebrow. He had returned late the previous night, almost around midnight, so Sherlock had decided to wait until morning to complain even though he had heard the car at night. But complain he must and complain he would! “Your groundskeeper Malcolm, have you not trained him on some basic manners? He misbehaved with me last night. He pointed a gun at me, spoke to me rudely and ordered me about despite being a mere servant. Is this how your house guests and employees are treated here? Since you know my family you must know I am quite used to seeing domestic helps around and none of them would dare to behave like that with me.”

“Malcolm is a bit coarse, I agree, but he keeps to himself,” John answered coolly, “Unless he is provoked or he sees someone is out of line. Mr. Holmes, you must understand that his first line of allegiance is towards me and if he sees someone betraying me then he’s well within his rights to object, stop the act and forcefully if required. You have seen his build. He has the boldness too. Plus he is a crack shot. My orderly from the military days.”

_Oh, that explained the devotion_ , Sherlock thought bitterly as he made an about turn and went back to the house, straight up to his bedroom.

But his anger didn’t diminish, nor did his fears that he was really cornered like a rat and more than one person was supporting John to keep him trapped here.


	5. A lurking presence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is stalking them, but is it Sherlock he is after or someone else or maybe John and his daughter

“So,” John asked sternly, “If you climb trees at ten thirty in the night, attempting to escape, then he will take necessary steps to stop you from doing so.”

  
“I was NOT…..”

“Don’t shout. It’s my house and you have to live by my rules here.”

“Or else what???”

“You wouldn’t want to know that you foolish…..” John began when his eyes went to the door and he paused hurriedly. Sherlock turned too and a second later little Rosy appeared there, looking a bit scared. John asked sternly, “ _Rosamunde Mary Watson_ , how many times have I told you _not to_ sneak around my study or eavesdrop?”

“No daddy, _you asked me to wait_ at the hallway, I was waiting for you to come out and play ball just like you had promised.”

Sherlock snorted out a laugh that dripped with sarcasm, “I see! It’s alright Rosy. I am the one who detained him so I must make up for it too, to you! Come on, you and I shall play badminton. I got you a set from the stores yesterday, go run and bring that! And-and how about an…. evening campfire? Have you ever done something like that little Rosy?”

Casting a pointed look at John, Sherlock left the study in a huff.

_How did his life come to this? From bad to worse! He had come here to escape all these things – a patronizing older man, a humiliating atmosphere at home, constant control and spying on his life._ Now he was being subjected to everything plus more. At least his daddy and Mycroft were his own flesh and blood. How dare someone like John Watson do this, war hero and handsome man or not!

_What the hell am I thinking?!? Did I just consider him handsome??? What the fuck is wrong with me!! A married man with a daughter is straight as a poker and I am being an idiot again, putting myself into the same trap as the last three times. No, no, no, I won’t allow this anymore, not again. Heaven help me, I need to be careful, I need to change!_

Sherlock leaned against the wall for support, his head spinning slightly. He would have continued to just stand there but was rescued from his misery by a perky Rosy who arrived excitedly with her badminton rackets and shuttle-corks, cooing about all the fun they’d have in the sunlight outside. Sherlock patted her golden head with great affection and, once again, his mind drifted quite inexplicably to John’s golden hairs. He wondered, _with shame and consternation_ , if they felt just the same as Rosie’s locks did; soft and smooth, almost feathery to the touch.

_Shame on you Sherlock Holmes._

“Well, what do you think?”

John stared out of the salon through the rows of long and arched windows, watching his daughter have fun with her new tutor. “Good teacher and…. Best friend too, if I may say,” he answered the caller, “But I am too afraid to hope for something positive here. We didn’t exactly start off on the right foot.”

He heard a rich, warm laughter and then the other man said, “He is quite a genius I say. In just five days he has made the little girl very happy. She is learning her lessons and having fun while at it. He’s taught her to greet grownups politely and with proper ladylike manners, she is learning fireless cooking like sandwiches and salads and dips and he’s giving her lessons in guitar and violin. I heard the other day she will also learn to swim and ride. What else do you need? You have got more than you bargained for, don’t you think my friend?”

“That’s why I know I will lose him, soon.”

  
“Why are you being so pessimistic?”

“I am being a realist really. He is a very clever man and sooner or later he will find a way to escape or beat the system.”

“Then tell him.”

“Nothing to say. Nothing at all. But seeing him and how innovative he is, he can’t be caged forever. He has organized a barbeque, even in this damp dripping weather. An impromptu marquee, a stone bonfire, grilling bangers and marinated shrimps on them. Even Ruthie seems overjoyed by the taste.”

“Are you complimenting him or complaining how good he is? John, please, you have to make an effort. Nothing comes without making an effort, a serious and sincere effort. I remember the brave officer who told me that once.”

“I know. I remember. Memories are all that I have left of those days and maybe a few friends. But my life has totally and irrevocably changed now. Earlier I used to dream of something, them imagine how to give it a shape and plan to go for it. Now, if I am being totally honest to you and myself, I am afraid to dream lest it turns out to be a nightmare.”

“Be fair on yourself and also him. Your daughter too. You must remember you have a present and she is your future. The past can’t keep dictating how you should live and what you should do. A man like you knows better, does he not?”

***

A week passed and Sherlock thought his situation would never change. It was well and truly a golden cage he now lived in. While there was every form of support, luxury and obedience provided to him indoors, he was not allowed to go out or even speak to anyone besides the retainers and Rosy. Someone or the other was keeping an eye on him all the time, or so it seemed to him. At night he often found Gooch lingering around the hallways and the front door, keeping a strict eye on him. During the day he saw the cook scuttle to the backdoor right next to the kitchen, each time he went there. The gatekeeper would diligently question him if he left the house alone and if he went out with Rosy then Mrs. Gooch accompanied him too. Once by mistake he had seen the postman and gone over to ask if there was anything for him and out of the blue that giant groundskeeper had arrived, asking him if everything was okay or not!

“Yeah, I am fine, tell you Captain Watson that,” he had snapped at the man and walked off in a huff.

Truth was that he was indeed trying to see if he could get a note out through the postman, maybe to the police station in Worcester instead of this village. After all, not EVERYONE would be in Dr. John Watson’s pocket and some honest man would listen to him. He still had faith on the legal system in the country and hoped that a murderer would not get away completely with such a heinous crime. But with that Malcolm hovering around him like a behemoth how was that even possible! How was he going to speak to anyone? On the positive side, Rosy was doing very well and Sherlock’s weekly pay of two hundred and fifty pounds was given to him in an envelope, right on time.

On the eighth day Jim Moriarty paid a surprise visit.

Rosy was taking her midday nap and Sherlock was in the lawns, doing some writing, when he heard Gooch approaching him. “Mr. Holmes sir, Mr. Moriarty, our neighbor, he is here to see you.”

“Me?!?”

“Yes you sir. Shall I show him here?”

“I am already here Goochie,” Jim came down the garden path, grinning from ear to ear, “Send us some milkshake. Ruth’s specialty, the one with blueberries!”

“Right away sir,” Gooch smiled warmly at him like one would do to their own employer, one they were extremely fond of. Sherlock mentally deduced the interaction and came to the conclusion that Jim was a regular here and the retainers knew him very well.

“So-oo, William Sherlock Scott Holmes the tutor,” Jim spoke with his usual briskness and in the lilting tone, “How is life with the good old blondie doctor and his goody two shoes equally blondie kiddo?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he didn’t know what to say, how to respond to that. Seeing him so tongue tied and baffled, Jim burst out laughing! “Ohh, you are cute, aren’t ya?” The actor-singer said, “You just took me very seriously now, I bet. Oh yes you did! C’mon, whatever I said is what I wish for Johnny boi, not that I think that will come true!!!”

_John a homosexual man, a queer, just like me??? How is that even possible? I have not seen a single thing in him that gives those signals!!!_ Sherlock threw a questioning look at Jim who instantly read his mind. But he didn’t give him a straight answer, instead he offered a different information on John’s past years, pretty valuable information! “John was married, briefly though, to a woman named Mary Teresa Morstan. Yeah, that’s right – Little Rosamunde’s middle name is after her mommy. She was absolutely enamored by John while John treated her as a friend, as a colleague. They worked together during the war years. From France to Poland to Greece, they were posted all over the place – he as a doctor and she as a nurse. Then he got shot in the leg and had to take a medical leave. Something happened, Mary was pregnant!”

_“John got shot and Mary was pregnant???”_

“Yeah, that was my reaction too when I heard.”

“Doesn’t make any sense to me I’m afraid!”

  
“To me neither, so I badgered Sebby till he told me everything. She was raped by a German monster, someone they had captured and treated with compassion and kindness. Mary and the other nurses apparently nursed him back to health but that bastard paid them off with his cruelty and brutality. A day before he was to be discharged from the medical center and taken in as a prisoner of war, he tried to escape. When two of the nurses on duty tried to stop him, he killed one and raped the other.”

“Oh my Gosh!”

Jim eyed Sherlock’s cigarettes, “Don’t you wanna have one?”

Sherlock smiled. “I don’t mind but I am wondering if you’d like a puff now and then while I smoke the rest of the thing? _What say you?”_

“No, _well said you_!” Jim grinned from ear to ear, “As a singer I don’t smoke except for a puff here and there! Sometimes Sebby gives me the chance, sometimes others like you or Major Sholto do. John doesn’t smoke. Anyways, so then Mary was a brave woman and shot him eventually but six weeks later, her physical scars had healed but her emotional ones hadn’t, when a bolt struck her from the blue. She found out she was pregnant.”

“Let me guess,” Sherlock murmured, “Poor girl! She didn’t want to….”

“Nope,” Jim sighed, his expression flat and resigned, “She saw so many deaths that she vowed not to be a cause of another one of them, that too an innocent life. When John came back from his medical break, he acknowledged the child as his own, giving her respectability and her child a name. Got married to her too, in a small chapel with Sholto and Sebby acting as best man and father/brother of the bride. One of her friends, Sally, she acted as a bridesmaid. But then John had to go to a posting near the German border and this was towards the last leg of the war. The year was 1943, perhaps the month of March. Mary came back, not able to perform her duties in her advanced stage of pregnancy.”

“And what then?”

“That is the thing my friend, that’s shrouded in mystery. No one knows what really happened after that, during the two and half years it took for John to come back home, to this manor and estate. But a few weeks after John was back, sometime during August 1945, the gatekeeper heard a child crying and saw a biggish stroller right before the gate. On a closer inspection there was a toddler in it, with a few items of clothes and toys and a letter. Apparently Mary had left the kid there and disappeared, telling John to take care of the girl you now tutor, named Rosamunde Mary Watson aka Rosy or Rosie! But that’s not all. John searched all over the place with the local sergeant, who was also a friend of his. A week later she was found drowned in a lake about fifty miles from here. No idea why she did that and what her reasons might have been. But whatever they were, she ensured the child was taken care of.”

“So then….”

  
“Yes, yes, Rosy isn’t John’s biological child but I wouldn’t go there. He loves that kid like his own. He won’t have one of his own after all.”

“He could….”

“Like his partner will make a baby out of his arse? Men like us don’t make babies Sherlock. We are lucky to even find a partner and that too one who suits our temperament and loves us for real. At least this child has given John a legit status as a heterosexual man and as a father. He truly loves her, you know.”

Sherlock gave Jim a curious look, “In your line of work this is rampant you said? This queerness?” When Jim nodded in agreement he asked, “What do you do to keep the rumors at bay? I mean, how exactly?”

Jim gave him a wise smile and whispered, “By staging a show, by projecting, _by hiding my man in plain sight._ We have arranged for women to walk in and out of our house and sometimes we invite a few ladies, our known lady friends, to visit us. So our house seems more like a bachelor’s hall and not a home, owned and treasured by two homosexuals who are simply unacceptable to our society.”

He trailed off and after a long pause concluded his statement, “But such is life.”

Sherlock heard a slight hurt in that tone and wanted to comfort the man whom he had taken quite a liking towards. For a celebrity, Jim was extremely friendly and unpretentious and very friendly too. Today’s visit was, in a way, something Sherlock really needed as a break from his routine life and interactions with the retainers or the child. Without thinking he reached out and touched Jim’s cheek. For some reason he wanted to do that, it felt like a natural thing to do. Jim blinked and gave him a quirked eyebrow, to which Sherlock quickly withdrew and said, “Um, you have a very pretty face. But then I guess you already know that, being a star and all that huh!”

He blushed deep, realizing his forwardness. “And you have beautiful hands,” Jim returned the compliment, not offended but a bit taken aback, “However, don’t do that again. I am okay with it but my Colonel is not. He might get a bit violent.”

“Oops, that sounds very dangerous to me!”

“Ah he is a sweetheart.”

“He has to be to deserve someone like you Jim,” Sherlock said frankly, “I do like you, a lot. But as a friend. You see, I haven’t had much luck in love and in a way I envy you. Finding someone to share your joys and days with, your life and a home, it’s something I have long wanted but never really thought I could ever achieve. Such a simple thing and yet….. we have to be truly fortunate to be there! I wish you both the very best!”

Jim gave him a small nod, “I appreciate those wishes man! I…. actually we, Sebby and I, need all the wishes we can get. I have decided, till forty I’d do this and then we shall be off to San Francisco in the United States. The scene for men like us is quite better there, in fact there seems to be a whole community who’d support you, who like you because they are all like you! But here in England, this area might be a bit better than other…..”

The conversation came to an abrupt halt as Gooch entered with the milkshakes and notified them that John was back. “Well, you could go and see him then,” Sherlock said as he picked up his milkshake. “No, I came to see you,” Jim said, “I’ll be gone for a month due to work. Edinburgh. Be good Sherlock and be there by the time I am back, around Christmas. Okay?”

_I wish I could. But I hope not._ Sherlock pushed aside the true words swimming in his mind and softly replied, “Sure, of course!”

As they parted, Sherlock noticed some movement around the gate. Like someone was peering in through the iron bars. As soon as he looked at him, the man turned and went away hurriedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and encouragement. Truly appreciate hearing your thoughts and suggestions. 
> 
> I hate to moderate comments but after 4 years I had to start this after some really nasty abusive ones thrown my way by some sick people, who had nothing to do with my stories and just wanted to be vile. 99% of the people here are awesome people and I really enjoy interacting with you and hearing from you. 
> 
> I welcome constructive criticism (not necessarily positive) but negative and abusive comments irk me. I don't think anyone here deserves that. 
> 
> Thank you for understanding :)


	6. Knight in Shining Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes a step, regrets it and gets into hot water

Another week passed and Sherlock began to reach the end of his tether. He had a particularly mad moment one morning, on this sixteenth day at the manor and Hallow village, when he found out that his mother’s letter to him had been opened. He burst into John’s room, the bedroom this time and immediately regretted it. John was standing there, just showered, in only his towel. The moment he saw Sherlock, he got a brief start before he was his cocky self again. Turning back to the mirror to comb his hair, he said, “I didn’t take you to be a voyeur, a peeping Tom!”

_The cheek of that man!_ “I didn’t take you to be a murderer, a blackmailer and also a queer on top of that,” Sherlock shot back at him and, for the second time in less than a minute, regretted that too.

“Says a man who is a queer himself or perhaps that’s the reason why you’re calling it out like a disease, sort of an abomination eh? Homosexuals happen to be the most homophobic, aren’t they?” John said with a shrug, smoothing his hair backwards in a fashionable side flick. For a few moments Sherlock was distracted at the sight, especially the movements of those pronounced and very firm muscles and smooth golden skin. John looked like a golden angel with his hair mostly like a halo around his head. “Mr. Holmes,” John’s voice cut through the haze, “You had come here to say something to me I suppose. If it was only to see me in a state of undress then that’s done and dusted.”

“No need to be smug,” Sherlock decided to poke at the only weakness, or rather an insignificant little thing John wasn’t all that great at, his height, “For a man who’s hardly tall enough to be taller than most of the tall’ish ladies.”

John didn’t seem to mind. “The stature of a man is through his deeds and talent, his ability to weather many storms and protect those around him. If your only qualification is the height of a giraffe and you need that to feel awesome, I pity you. Now, on to serious matters then! What was on your mind when you came in here Mr. Holmes?”

“Why did you open my letter?”

“I need to check. You aren’t exactly on my side.”

“You don’t deserve to have anyone on your side. If some orderly does that because of a shared glorious past, when you were a hero, then let me tell you I consider him to be misguided. Because today the man before me is NOT a hero but an arch villain, a criminal.”

“Careful now,” John said, showing anger for the first time, “You’re treading on very dangerous grounds, Sherlock.”

“Fire me.”

“Nope, I’ll simply write to your daddy and tell him you made advances at me. Or your brother and give him enough reasons to think you’re going astray and indiscreet and might expose your true nature and disgrace the family. Or better still, get your mum into trouble. After all the poor loving mothers are the first ones to pay for the mistakes made by their children.”

“You filthy bastard, you pathetic swine, son of a bitch……” Sherlock waved a finger at him, “Now you see what I do. I WILL expose you, even if that ruins me completely.”

***

A few days later Rosy had a play date with a friend in the village. Usually she was not allowed to go out much but Sherlock had insisted she would go out to the park and play every two or three days with other kids and thanks to that she had made friends and was also invited to this play date and lunch. Mrs. Gooch accompanied her as a chaperone and Sherlock got this opportunity to walk them to their destination. Then, as Mrs. Gooch was distracted while talking to the mother of the other child, he quickly slipped out and posted a letter for the inspector/senior inspector who was in charge of the station in Worcester. Then he mailed another letter to the Mayor of the town, giving the same details as the one to the inspector.

In a few days his worries and woes would be over, _hopefully._

“Mr. Holmes,” Mrs. Gooch said as they walked back towards the manor, after repeated assurances from the mother that Rosy would be safe and happy there and they could pick her up in a few hours, “If I may say something to you sir while we walk back.” When Sherlock gave her a look from the corner of his eye she took it as consent and continued, “You went to the market while I was talking to Mrs. Barrow, I noticed that. While that’s perfectly fine and I am sure you mean no harm, there’s just a small thing that I’d like to share with you. You see, our employer, Doctor Watson…..”

“What about him?”

“He is a good man. A great employer. He saved so many lives at the war. He has a medal of bravery from the King, another one from Red Cross, a third one from the General for his valor in accepting a posting in an area where none of the non-combatants were willing to go.”

“Great, he is a brave man. We all know that.”

“Not just that, he is kind and generous. He has helped educate our children, both of them and funded my daughter’s marriage and my son’s higher education.”

“Hmmm.”

“He is a man who works tirelessly to save lives. He is the best surgeon in Worcester. Yet he works a day every week for the poor, from consultations to surgeries. He feels for us servants as he feels for his daughter, treats all of us like his family. He supports his sister who went through a really bad patch and lost all her money. He is an amazing, wonderful man.”

Sherlock nodded, “Good. Why are you telling me all this?”

For a while she was quiet. They were walking up the street leading to the manor. It was a slope and a slight uphill walk for them. The sounds of their shoes on the concrete was all that could be heard, the scrunch of their footsteps as they made their way to the house which Mrs. Gooch considered her Paradise and Sherlock considered his Hades. Each looked at the other when the other wasn’t looking, lost in their thoughts. Finally, as they reached the gate, the housekeeper/nanny put her hand gently on Sherlock’s arm, in an affectionate gesture. “My daughter is your age sir. So if I might be bold enough to say the next thing….. Please do not make poor Rosy an orphan.”

Sherlock stood there like a statue as she walked on inside, leaving the smaller side gate open for him to follow. She didn’t look back at all.

***

It was a torturous afternoon for Sherlock.

Mrs. Gooch’s words kept reverberating in his ears and he was already in two minds by that evening, whether he had done the right thing by exposing John and drawing legal and social attention on his crime or if he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

After all, he hadn’t considered Rosy at all. He knew her mother had met a tragic end. Now to see her daddy go, that would be a disaster for the sensitive kid. Still, how could he just let a murderer get away with his crime!!! Around nine in the evening something happened that made things go further south for Sherlock. He received a phone call from the housekeeper of their London flat saying his mother was missing and while Mycroft was out of the country, Lord Reginald Holmes was not reachable as he was traveling to Northern Ireland.

Instantly Sherlock knew what had gone wrong. John had got to know he was missing for sometime and done something to his mother, maybe had her kidnapped. His anger flared up and he decided this was time to act. He would get out of here and stop the letters.

Then tell John to let his mummy go.

Throwing caution to the winds he got dressed, got to the basement and picked up a rope. Armed with that, he went to the western part of the property, where there was the least likely chance of that Malcolm fellow stalking him.

Leveraging the rope and an expert sailor knot he tied to the newel post, he managed to swing up the wall, perch himself momentarily on the top (his thick boots preventing a nasty cut from the glass shards on the wall) and land on the other side. “Maybe I just didn’t try hard enough earlier,” he said as he landed on the sidewalk with a thump, pumping his fist up and down in triumph, “Yes! Yesss!! Now I am out, I’ve escaped the bloody prison and I’d like to see who’d try to stop me now.”

Thankfully for him, he saw a bicycle against the light-post just outside the front gate and pedaled hard as he could down the avenue, headed for the post office. But when he reached there he was met with a disappointing sight. The van that carried the mail to the nearby towns, villages and city had just left with its midnight pickup from Hallow. One of the post office workers pointed, “If you pedal hard enough young man, you might even grab them before they make it into the city.”

Sherlock was desperate so he did just that, never mind the late hour and the three and half mile distance. He pedaled harder and harder, shooting through the mostly empty highway and towards the city of Worcester. Finally, almost after twenty minutes and passing by several trucks and the occasional car whizzing past, he saw the lights of the city. Naturally it was not quite as dark as Hallow and there were more than just a few street lights on there. Some shops were open, a few factories were in the process of changing shifts and some late-nighters drove through the city streets and lanes. Sherlock managed to reach the van which was quite conspicuous in its red color and was parked by the side of the road, thankfully. The driver had stopped to buy a packet of cigarettes, it seemed.

He traded the nearly full pack of cigarettes he had with the driver of the van, to take his help and grab the two letters from the pile inside.

It was quite a pile indeed, nearly a thousand letters and parcels and postcards, and by the time Sherlock had got to his letters it was almost 1-30 am. He didn’t waste any time in thanking the driver and was back on his bicycle again, headed back for the village.

But as he was passing by a row of closed shops on the left and a garage (also closed) and a still-open tavern on the right, a factory visible in the distance and a milestone before him that said, ‘Thanks for visiting Worcester’, something unexpected happened.

Something came flying at him and he dodged it. But he knew something worse was coming up right after and so it was, a contraption used to block the spinning wheels on any locomotive or engine. That thing was tossed at his bicycle tyre and before he knew it he was sprawled on the road with the cycle next to him. Sherlock was on his feet instantly, being a fit young man with sharp reflexes, so when an attacker tried to grab him and another came to mug him he was prepared and sent them both on the ground with kicks and punches.

But within second more people appeared on the scene, at least half a dozen of them and a leader, who was brandishing a knife. Naturally Sherlock was no match for so many and he was pinned against a parked vehicle and the knife was at his throat. In the semi darkness he couldn’t quite see who the man was but his harsh voice and spiteful tone told Sherlock he sure meant business. “What are you doing here laddie, so late in the night and dressed like that? Huh? Do you have a death-wish or a theft-wish?!?”

The others around him burst out laughing. The leader looked at the man next to him, a tall spindly fellow with a three day stubble. They were all wearing grubby overalls, which told Sherlock they worked at the factor visible within the fields at a distance. “Whatcha think Keffer? How much is he worth?”

“Oh I should say enough for all of us, all ten of us to have ourselves a merry little Christmas,” replied the man with a tone that reflected resentment towards Sherlock and greed about what he saw on the young gentleman, “His suit is worth a year’s wages of mine. His bicycle is better than any we have ever seen. His watch, oh lookie, what an expensive watch it is!!! Swiss make. At least seven hundred pounds it shall fetch if sold in the grey market and then there is a gold chain, a pendant with diamonds in it and he even wears a man bracelet and gold cufflinks. At least three thousand pounds boys, we are all rich for this month and our women and children will be happy!!!”

That was when Sherlock realized what this was! In times like these the division between the privileged and the working class was so great that a natural resentment had built up against the ones who were entitled from birth. The lack of work, poor wages and rising prices had also caused living standards to fall and that made it impossible for families to have some of the normal festive joys they were used to.

But this meant he was in trouble.

“You hear that boy? What you’re wearing is something all of us can’t afford to buy, not even if we put in all we got. So you will share, with us. Take out his wallet…..”

They were so engrossed with Sherlock that they hadn’t noticed that a car had drawn up. Sherlock noticed that though and a closer look revealed it to be the Chrysler John owned. One of the men had just grabbed Sherlock’s chain to pull it away from his neck when a voice thundered out in the dark.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE.”

“Get away from him and there will be no further trouble.”

Sherlock gasped. The first voice was unknown but the second one was familiar. It was John!

John had come to save him!!!

“Oh fuck off you posh gobshite you…..” said the man and again reached out for Sherlock, when a shot rang out. His attacker groaned and fell on his knees, clutching at his arm. He had been shot, although not fatally. But that seemed to have antagonized the group because the leader of the group, and Sherlock now got a chance to see his face, came bellowing at him with his knife so he could stab Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes and braced himself for the pain. This man was now doing it for revenge. His man was hurt so he was determined to hurt Sherlock back for that.

And he was quite a big and formidable man, taller than the six footer Sherlock and very bulky, with the roughened and toughened hands of a worker. “He’s been shot Steve, they’ve tried to kill him….” Someone said and another angry growl was head. Sherlock opened his eyes briefly as a heavy hand grabbed him by the neck. As the shining blade of the knife flashed before him, the man’s arm seemed to have frozen in its place suddenly and he was pulled back by his shaggy red mane. Sherlock reacted immediately and kicked another of his captors on the groin and made him yelp and hop away in pain. The third one twisted his arm painfully but he backhanded him and finally managed to free himself.

That was when he saw John, brave and fierce and protective John for the first time.

It was John who had taken on that big man, despite his smaller size, and he was actually winning the fight. Naturally the other men pounced on him to pull him off but that was when Malcolm and a rather tall, muscular and brawny blond man appeared and took on the other goons. Those three men fought them off so well that Sherlock couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and assurance. Malcolm took on four at once while the blond guy easily managed three more. John had knocked the leader unconscious and taken on two more.

Sherlock got to his feet and grabbed one of the goons who was trying to run away and slammed him on the ground, punching him a few times.

But neither of them had kept an eye on the leader or the knife he had. The man evidently regained consciousness, saw Sherlock close and tried to stab him from behind.

“WATCH OUT!” The blond man screamed.

Sherlock turned and knew it was too late. The knife came down on him.

But he didn’t get injured, not in the least. At the very last moment he was pushed out of the way and the knife sliced into someone else. _Namely John Watson_ who had, _literally_ , saved his life but putting _his own into danger._

“JAWN!!!”

Sherlock watched as the red spot on John’s shirt grew larger and larger.


	7. Building and painting bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shares some reasons behind his strange earlier behavior

“Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock?” The voice started as a faint whisper before growing to a hiss and then a rather loud roar.

Sherlock jumped and turned towards the direction of that voice. A stranger with a haystack on his head was shaking him by the shoulders in a white chalk box which smelled of rat poison with someone rolling a lawn mower right next to his ears.

Then he realized it was not a stranger but Sebastian, Colonel Sebastian Augustus Moran. The haystack on his head was actually his thick blond mane and the man was shaking him to wake him up from a snooze he had fallen into. The chalk box was the sterile while waiting room of the same Worcester hospital where John worked and naturally the smell was that of antiseptic solutions used to keep the place disinfected and hygienic. The sounds of the lawn mower was the steady hum of chatter going on around the room where quite a few people were talking at the same time, three of them being doctors and a couple of nurses right behind them.

It all came back to him. John was injured and they had brought him to the hospital. Major Sholto was back on the scene of the crime with the cops and as they rounded up the gang, Sebastian had carried John into the car (with John protesting loudly) and brought him here. Up until the moment the doctors had asked them to step out of the treatment room, he hadn’t seen or heard John wince or groan. He kept a straight face mostly despite the fact that the blood loss was quite a lot. At least a liter was lost, Sherlock was sure of that.

Just when he felt responsible for this and was about to apologize, John had said something which made shame had taken over his heart and mind. After that he could barely look at the doctor, less have a word with him or ask him how he even knew where Sherlock was.

“You should know that your mummy’s car had broken down while she was on her way from a friend’s place in Kent to her London abode. I knew someone who lives close by so they have gone there to pick her up and bring her home as a house guest. The car can be fixed only tomorrow morning. I also informed your father’s office so they can let him know and they don’t worry unnecessarily.”

Which succinctly put forth the point that John was not responsible for his mother’s disappearance, instead he had helped her tide over an inconvenient situation.

Not to mention John had saved his life. He could have died had the knife struck a little to the side or above. He was saved by a stroke of luck and nothing else and things could have gone either way.

Sherlock’s hands shook as he stood up, staring in bewildered awe at the tall blond colonel. The man seemed so much in control, so stable. Evidently he was used to situations like this and kept a rather steady nerve.

“Is John….?”

“He was never in danger of losing his life, not with the speed at which we got him here. He is a strong young man and has good healing flesh. He will be better in no time, fighting fit even. Just woke you up to say that you can go into the room and sit with him if you want. I will be back in the morning again and then you can go home.”

He saw Sherlock look at the doctors who were still chatting with Major Sholto, a man in his mid-forties and pale blond with a strange scar on one side of his face. He had been so focused on John earlier that he hadn’t properly noticed the major who had arrived with the police. “Don’t worry my friend,” Sebastian assured him with a warm smile, “They aren’t talking about John but about the crime and how several such cases have been reported on that stretch, injured people who came here for treatment after being attacked on that stretch, especially between midnight and 3 am. We are talking about filing a strong complaint with the local authorities to deal with this nuisance.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Now promise me something.”

“Sure colonel.”

“No matter what the fight is all about or how terrible the row was, never go out like that late in the night again. That too wearing such expensive items….. you were like an all you can eat buffer for those ghastly thieves. Times are bad and we have to be a bit cautious, that’s all.”

“Fight?”

“Why do you look so baffled? Yes, Jim told me. You have met Jim, haven’t you? He told me you and John…. okay, sorry, my bad, when John came to me and asked me to come along, saying you have gone out in a huff, I shouldn’t have assumed it was a fight. But if that’s not the case then why did you go out so late in the night? You don’t seem to be the partying kind.”

So they think we are a couple!!! Oh dear, how am I going to answer that. But whatever I answer, it must not make John look bad. “Well,” he tried to be evasive and vague, “I had to get something done and I admit it was not very judicious of me…. I apologize for putting all of you through so much trouble Colonel.”

“Sebastian, please,” the blond man said, thumping him on the back, “I am very pleased to meet you and hopefully in a few days we will meet under better circumstances. For now, go and look after him, well not really look after him but just stay there until morning. He’s been stitched up, as a matter of precaution given some blood as well and sedated for a few hours. So don’t disturb him, just be there. I asked them to give you a comfortable chair and a foot stool.”

***

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, three things hit him with amazement. First, he had managed to sleep again, after all the stress and worries and being in a hospital room in a sitting position. Two – Sometime during the early hours of the day his hand had found its way to John’s and their hands were now joined. Three – John was wide awake and looking at him with something other than the usual indifference, irritation or patronizing attitude. A nurse was checking his vitals while being wisecracked by him.

“Good morning,” he said sheepishly, “I-I…. okay, sure.” He stopped when John gave a quick glance at the nurse and Sherlock waited for her to leave, for more privacy.

Once she had left, Sherlock sighed and raised a hand, only then realizing he was still holding John’s hand with the other one. Quickly he withdrew, blushing deep red, and mumbled, “I know you may have a lot to say but let me talk first. Please. I beg of you.” John didn’t appear impatient or angry, merely bemused. He waved his hand, the one which didn’t have the IV tube inserted, to give him permission. “I had written letters to the inspector and mayor, of this city, explaining to them about your crime and how I was literally captive in your manor. Then, when I heard my mum was missing, I thought you had got to know and was trying to make good on your threat by harming her as vendetta. So I came here to…..”

“Not your fault.”

“I am truly and deeply sorry. I didn’t understand you had a human side, one even better than mine. I put you into that position. Poor Rosy might have become an orphan.”

“It is my fault too.”

“I wouldn’t have done this had you told me even once that you….. never mind, whatever you did, I have to forgive you now because I am in your debt. You saved my life. You even helped my mum. Sebastian told me everything. I misunderstood you.”

“Sherlock, it’s all about circumstances. I never wanted to threaten you.”

“I hope you can forgive me, someday,” Sherlock went on, not even listening to the older man though the words did register somewhere at the back of his mind, “I was being very selfish. I should have at least spoken to you before I took that foolish step……”

“Mr. Holmes, listen to me will you???” John used his voice of authority and Sherlock finally paused, staring at the man through a startled expression. “You’re hearing me, not listening,” said his employer, “You tried to escape from a cage and every caged bird has a right to escape. I can’t blame you for that or for being resentful towards me. I didn’t want any of this to happen and truth be told, I couldn’t hurt you or your family even if I tried to. I am not that man.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to talk, then shut it, not sure what he should say. He made an attempt a second time and shut his mouth again, looking helpless. For someone who could talk himself out of any situation, this seemed like his lowest point.

“Don’t feel a need to apologize or explain, please,” John went on in a tone that suggested he wanted to do some confession, “If you really want to do this, let’s wait for another day. Today is my turn.”

Sherlock nodded a bit and bowed his head. “Sherlock I mean it, you have nothing to apologize for,” John went on, “What I did was on my own, my own accord and you didn’t cause it in any way. You had gone out with an aim in mind and that was to protect your mother. No one can blame anybody for wanting to protect those closest to them, NO ONE. It’s something I wish I could have done instead of being such a bloody idiot, a blind arsehole….. anyways, that later. For now please accept my complete understanding on your reasons to leave the house at that hour. Had I allowed you to come and go as you please, I daresay you may not have even taken such a decision and put yourself into trouble.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

“But I had no idea about you sending a letter. Nor did I cause your mum’s disappearance. In fact she didn’t really disappear, she was just detained by a breakdown.”

“I know, I know now.”

“Why did you think I knew about you sending the letter?” John asked curiously.

“Because the servants were on your side, for obvious reasons,” Sherlock confessed, “Mrs. Gooch saw me and I put two and two together when I heard mummy’s not returned home.”

“Ah I get it now. If it helps to clarify, they all know but Mrs. Gooch was always very frank on this subject and told me that while she was okay protecting me and keeping me safe from the law, do all she possibly could to avoid an arrest for me, she didn’t agree with me keeping you back in the house against your wishes. Or even on the matter of threatening you or blackmailing you. She didn’t tell me a word about you or any letter. But now that you’ve written, I suppose…..”

“No,” Sherlock stopped him before he could talk about the police, “No one is coming for you. I have the letters with me, here. I succeeded in my mission. I had not escaped Jawn, I had got out to stop these letters from reaching their destination and I managed to do that before I got into that situation.” He produced both letters from his pocket and tore them up to pieces before John, before he disposed them in the trash can.

“Why-Why did you d-do that?”

“I admit my reasons have changed,” Sherlock sighed, clasping his hands together on his lap, “Earlier it was to save mummy. But now, I’d say I’m glad I did this because that saves you.”

“A murderer? A blackmailer? A man who made your life miserable? You are not a fool Mr. Holmes just as I am not one to believe in fairy tales. Your eyes tell me you’re saying the truth and while my heart wants to believe this, my mind just can’t accept it. You are a good man but certainly not the kind to save someone who is a threat to your freedom and happiness.”

“I don’t know why but I have started to develop this inkling that you couldn’t be a criminal,” Sherlock got up and walked to the window, staring out into the streets below. It was a busy day, a Monday morning as usual. He wondered for a moment how many people were in his position on that Monday morning, at the cusp of a life-changing decision. “Someone who can risk their life for a stranger, someone so adored by his staff and friends, he can’t be a merciless and brutal killer. Yes you took someone’s life as I witnessed but maybe in some way they deserved it? Am I going in the right direction or am I merely babbling nonsense right now? You tell me, you tell me Jawn, was that man really a……”

“Let’s save this for when I am home.”

Sherlock gave John a surprised look. “You want to…..”

“Yes we will talk about it,” John said as they heard the doctor and two nurses discussing the case just outside the VIP room where John had been staying. They were about to enter the room any moment now. “Just hold on for three or four days,” John said, “Until then keep faith on me, please. I can only ask you, I won’t force you or coerce you this time.”

Sherlock smiled slightly and gave John’s hand a light squeeze. “You don’t have to ask me for this. Last night I saw a man anyone can put their money on, a man who didn’t seem like they’d ever let the side down. So no coercing or commanding or forcing needed. I’ll gladly wait, for you to come home and also to tell me your story.”

***

“There really isn’t anything to worry little one,” Sherlock said cheerfully as he finished his work and closed his pen, screwing the cap on, “Five days now, your papa is on his way here as we speak. But you remember how you’re supposed to welcome him, right?”

“Quite right,” she clapped her little hands, “He will like it Mr. Holmes?”

“You bet he will darling,” Mrs. Gooch entered the room with a huge smile, “But for that you must be dressed for the moment. Go on, I have sent the maid to your room. She’ll help you dress.” When she left, bouncy and happy, she turned towards Sherlock and said, “Everything has been done just the way you asked us to. The lunch is all his favorite dishes, the gift you chose is waiting in his bedroom for him to arrive and the flowers are in place too.”

“Thank you! And do please thank Gooch, Ruth and the other staff too for this wonderful job,” Sherlock said with a big smile, surprised at how happy he felt and how fulfilled to have managed the house in John’s absence, visited him regularly at the hospital and now organized this welcome for him which might just please him.

“Thank you sir and if I may add, stepping just a wee bit out of line for a moment,” she looked at him with fondness and awe, “You have been the perfect hero for all of us in the good doctor’s absence. Encouraging us to keep up the work and our morale, not letting Rosy miss her father.”

Those words felt like more than just a mere appreciation from a retainer. They felt like acceptance and respect which had been earned. When Sherlock noticed Gooch at the doorway, nodding and smiling to that praise from his wife as well, he knew that the tide had truly turned in his favor. Even the groundskeeper had been eating out of his hands for the past few days! Soon they heard the bell from the gateway, indicating that the gate was being opened and someone was entering the manor grounds, prompting all of them to quickly assemble at the shiny marble front-porch to greet the master of the house! A man who was returning home after five long days, that too after a heroic act!

When the Chrysler came to a rolling halt and the chauffeur opened the door for John, no one could miss the look of pleasant surprise that registered on his visage. A big welcome home banner had been displayed above the front door, everyone was present to greet him, a trail of flowers led inside for him to tread on and Rosy had a bunch of flowers and a get-well-soon card, handmade, in her hands as she waited for him. As soon as John stepped out, the butler stepped down the stairs and handed him we glass of his favorite December drink – eggnog.

“Thank you Gooch,” John took a customary sip and returned it on the tray, to drink the rest later. Sherlock quickly began to play a happy and peppy tune on his violin and Rosy ran to her father to hug and kiss him with great joy!

“Jesus Christ,” Sebastian, who was also in the car, alighted and grinned from ear to ear, “Trust me, I am almost inclined to start calling you ‘Your Highness’ from now on John!!! This is truly and utterly magnificent!!”

“I truly feel like I am home,” John murmured, looking fairly and uncharacteristically emotional, “Thank you everyone.”

Then, more discreetly, as he and Sherlock locked eyes the blond man mouthed ‘Thank you very much’. His brown eyes were swimming with gratitude and something else that Sherlock couldn’t quite put a name to, but he knew it was something positive, something loving!

Sherlock felt pleased as punch. So John had realized it was all a team effort no doubt but there was _only one captain behind it all, the one who was instrumental behind this arrangement. William Sherlock Scott Holmes._


	8. The Big Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John confesses it all to Sherlock as the boys grow closer

“In three days a practice nurse will take my stitches off and for a week someone will come very alternate day to dress it. I have been encouraged to be on my feet and do everything except bend, climb stairs, exercise or lift something heavy for a month so I’ll start working and resume my normal life in the New Year, I suppose.” 

“Well, you look better already and thank God for that,” Sherlock said, “The irony isn’t lost on me that it’s the month of December and this is the last time of the year when someone wants to be either incapacitated or constrained in any way.”

“You will have to do me a favor Sherlock, just one more thing and one more time,” John said somberly as they sat chatting after dinner that night, at John’s bedroom suite. It was a big one, with a boudoir at the entrance, then the main room which was purely the sleeping area and a desk for him to work in case he wanted to, then the dressing room and the walk-in wardrobe and finally the en-suite bathroom. John was sitting on the bed, supported by pillows as he leaned back against the headboard, while Sherlock sat on a comfortable lounge chair which was kept next to the nightstand. “What kind of favor,” Sherlock asked, a tiny voice in his head telling him not to hope for intimacy.

“You need to go back home after New Year, once the festivities are over and I am back to work,” John said unexpectedly. When Sherlock startled and leaned forward, ready to interrupt, the doctor shook his head and stopped him with a mere look. “I have it all planned out in my head,” he continued, “While I was convalescing at the hospital, this is what I was doing all the time. Making all kinds of plans in my head. I will put Rosy in a good school and I think she can benefit from the company of other children. Thanks to you I have noticed she had a handful of friends now. I was approached by a friend of my sister’s, who needs similar tutoring services for her two sons and her neighbor’s daughter. You will be paid as much as here from the two sets of parents. No losses for you financially and you get to be close to your family, your friends, your own city.”

Sherlock felt like laughing bitterly. But he didn’t want John to think he was being dismissive so he stated the plain truth. “I have no friends Jawn, my family isn’t too proud of me and I am not too keen to be with them…. Except for my mummy, who mostly doesn’t reside in London.”

“But then….”

“There is nothing for me there.”

“Then somewhere I the country I can find something for you.”

“Are you really that keen to send me off?”

John opened his mouth to say something and stopped himself. Clearly he was not ready for this question and equally ill-prepared to answer it, perhaps even to himself. After a long moment he sighed loudly and smiled, “You got me there. Not really!”

“Then why?” Sherlock demanded to know, “Why has it suddenly become a mission for you to get rid of me?”

“Not get rid of you but let you go,” John said a bit wistfully, meeting Sherlock’s eye without hesitation, “This isn’t for me because God knows we need you here. After a long time this place seemed like a proper home and not just a wealthy man’s country house! But I can’t be selfish, can I? Why would _you want to stay here after knowing what I did and who I am._ It doesn’t make sense. All I would request is your discretion and kindness, which I can only hope you’ll offer by yourself and not something I can demand or force you for. I am not a good man Sherlock and I have done several things I am not too proud of. I can’t expect you to give me anything at this point, not even your time or trust. I simply do not deserve it.”

“Why don’t you let me be a judge of that?” Sherlock said, “I agree initially I got a shock and we didn’t start off well. It was horrible, a nasty time, no doubt you felt awful doing that to me and I felt worse than that being treated that way. But haven’t we passed that phase now, are we not in a rather new phase that takes us towards friendship? Why wouldn’t two friends be able to get along and support each other? Tomorrow if I make a mistake will you kick me out?”

“What kind of a question is that, _of course not_.”

“Then can’t I have the same opinion about you!” 

A long sigh and John simply murmured, ‘thank you’.

Things would have ended there but destiny had deemed for it to be otherwise. After bidding John goodnight, Sherlock was about to get up to go when his foot tangled with the edge of the carpet and he lost his balance. Noticing that, John stretched his arm out to grab him and suddenly they found themselves unusually close, Sherlock on the edge of the bed and John leaning forward, their lips and faces only a few inches apart.

A short silence, a barely perceptible nod, a blink and suddenly they kissed. It was tentative, light, ghost of a touch almost. Then a bit more firmly but with lips still closed. Then a third one during which Sherlock was sitting on the bed and John had an arm around him.

This time their mouth opened but at the first touch of tongues they pulled back with matching gasps. It had been too long for both, they sensed it. All a bit too much!

“I-I hope I didn’t do something you didn’t want to do Sherlock.”

“N-No, not really, I-I wanted this too.”

“Let’s give it more time, give each other more space to think, another moment when we’re surer of this, perhaps??”

Sherlock nodded, a strange stirring in his groin telling him he had an erection to take care of. “Yes,” he said hurriedly, red cheeks and redder nose indicating his shyness, “Another day. Good…. Goodnight Jawn.” He literally ran out of the room thereafter without giving John a chance to reply. “Goodnight darling,” John murmured, letting himself use the endearment.

***

Ten days later John was fighting fit and had begun to even visit the hospital three days a week, just to see his patients and oversee the surgeries being done by the junior surgeons. He wasn’t well enough to work long hours or everyday or perform surgeries but he hated inaction, so in two weeks he became a lot more active than Sherlock or the rest had envisaged. Still, he spent longer hours at home and that meant he devoted a lot more time to watching Sherlock from a distance, with both adoration and attraction in equal measures. For Sherlock the days felt glorious and what a turn of fortunes it was! Earlier the mere sight of that man jarred him but now he was exhilarated by the sounds of his footsteps.

Days went on merrily until the 12th Advent Day before Christmas. That was the day they decided to put up the Christmas trees – all three of them.

One was the huge one at the foot of the stairwell, in the main hallway after entrance and foyer, the other was in Rosie’s playroom and the third was to be the outdoor tree visible from the front porch. Sherlock noticed that both he and John shared a quirky side where their tastes and preferences were clearly unconventional and interesting. That reflected in the outdoor tree décor, for which they chose all kinds of natural ornaments. From dried orange and lemon peels to star anise and popcorn, natural acorns and cherries, loads of ferns and microgreens and many, many twinkling fairy lights.

John also prepared the mulled wine on the following day, a delicious drink that Sherlock had to admit was the best he had ever had in his life.

The building sexual tension between them reached a peak that night, on the fourteenth of December. Sherlock was standing on the overlook terrace on the first floor, above the portico, watching the light snow that had begun to fall from evening onwards, holding a mug of hot cocoa in his hands. Suddenly he heard those familiar footsteps and his cock responded to it before the rest of him could.

That smell, the familiar and amazing smell! Aftershave, coffee and something purely John.

“Hey,” John showed an intimate gesture for a moment, gently touching the back of his long neck, “It’s ten in the night so I was waiting in the study for you.”

That had become a ritual for them, a nightly chat in the study from ten pm to eleven pm before they went to bed. Sometimes they held hands, sometimes they kissed lightly at the time of saying goodnight, sometimes they simply threw longing looks at each other and went to their bedrooms reluctantly. But sexually fruitful or not, they immensely enjoyed that hour of privacy. “It’s this season’s first snow,” Sherlock held out his hand, letting some of the wisps touch his skin, “Snow won’t stick to the ground so tomorrow we won’t see anything. Was watching it while I can.”

“Sometimes all of us have to enjoy the things we love while we still can,” John added wistfully, which made Sherlock turn and give him a sharp look. “Do you want to say something to me Jawn? Maybe it is long overdue by now and you should get it off your chest.” 

John seemed both relieved and anxious at the prospect of doing that. But he seemed agreeable and ushered Sherlock into his bedroom, instead of the study. Sherlock felt every hair on his body stand up at that, the mere anticipation of being there, so close to the bed where John slept, made him half-hard already. He pulled his sweater down a bit, to hide whatever ‘tenting’ that might have happened. Over the past few days he had been doing that constantly, jerking off, adjusting his clothes, moving away whenever he felt it coming on. It was both embarrassing but exciting, reminding him of his days as a pubescent schoolboy with his first crush on a certain Cary Grant and his so-called partner and friend Randolph Scott!

They sat on the bed, another intimate gesture that warmed the innermost cockles of Sherlock’s heart. “Don’t be so tense,” John whispered, his voice thick, “It’s me who should be nervous. After all it’s my backstory that’s going to be revealed.”

Sherlock nodded, taking a few deep breaths. When he realized he was making it very obvious he stopped and smiled sheepishly.

“This goes back to my army days,” John touched his cheek, “When I was your age or maybe just a wee bit older than that. I had a great friend and companion those days, Mary. She was not just an efficient and compassionate nurse but almost a doctor. Minor surgeries and all the suturing and other procedures she could handle entirely on her own. And she loved her job, just as much as she loved me.”

“During those days only three words were applicable – Bloody, Brutal and Bleak. To survive the horrors and the loneliness, the bloodbath and the loss, we had to turn to whatever we could lay our hands on. Initially I admit I had a few quick shags behind the tent with a young private or three but over time I needed something more sustainable, companionship and friendship, both of which Mary provided. She even protected by going out into the trenches herself to guide the wounded to the medical center.”

“She used to say ‘There are many like me doc but only you are you and your need here is far greater than any nurse’s. You save lives and we help, the savior is one and the helpers could be many’ – those were her standard lines, the sweetheart that she was. Over years of association in trying circumstances, we developed a deep respect and an unshakeable bond between us – so much so that we had even made a promise to each other that in case either of us don’t survive the war we would take care of each other’s families. In her case her mum and in my case my sister.”

“Did you love her? Did you love Mary? As a friend _and as a wife or partner_?” Sherlock found himself asking despite his every intention not to. He just couldn’t help himself.”

John smiled that honest smile, eyes twinkling and their corners crinkling. A smile that told Sherlock this man would never lie to him or willingly hurt him, ever. Unspoken promises and a new world of delights swam in those light brown orbs that sparkled with the warmth of affection amidst the dipping mercury. “I did, not the way I would have loved a wife though. But she was definitely like a common law wife to me and someone I would have protected through the war and whose friendship I should have liked to cherish throughout a lifetime. Neither of which I managed to do eventually, all thanks to the sudden injury I had when the medical center was quite unexpectedly bombed. I had shrapnel bits in my leg and a head injury that had knocked me completely unconscious for half a day.”

Unknowingly Sherlock grabbed John’s arm and John grabbed his hand back.

“When I came back on duty, after recovering for three months in a military base closest to that place and then another three-month-long holiday in London along with physio-therapy, she was in the third trimester of pregnancy. It seemed her kindness had been rewarded brutally.”

“You have a picture of her?” Sherlock asked. He realized only then that there were no photos anywhere in the house of the ill-fated Mary, none at all. Even when he thought she was the wife, the fact that Rosy didn’t have _any pics_ had struck him as positively odd.

“No,” John replied, “Never thought I should keep it, for fear of remembering my mistakes all too much.”

_“Your mistakes?!”_

“Yes, mine. All of them mine.”

“How so?”

“She was already scarred by the rape and the fact that she was carrying a child whose father would never be there for her or the baby. Then there was the uncertainty of war and her fate afterwards. Top of that came the final nail in her coffin when I sent her to that animal….”

“Who?”

“Brace yourself Sherlock, for this will tell you exactly _why I did what I did on that train_. Yes, you must have definitely guessed it by, it’s none other than that betrayer, traitor, that-that heartless beast who I trusted so stupidly and asked him to look after ‘my wife’ Mary Watson and the unborn child.”

Sherlock felt his head reel. It was slowly sinking in and the pieces of the puzzle were slotting in together with some of these revelations. “Viscount Vincent Spaulding???” He asked.

“Precisely,” John seemed to be in a distant world, not this one. It was a world where the fire was still burning and the memories were still churning – a moment trapped in time when he had realized how his well-meaning move had destroyed someone dear to him, someone under his protection. “Vincent and I were friends for a long time, I used to call him Vin or Vinny and he would call me Hammy, after my middle name Hamish. Mary was six months gone when I sent her, for her safety and the child’s, to London. I told Vinny to take care of her and the kid till the war was over and I was able to come back for good. But guess what he did, how he repaid my friendship, trust, faith? Wait, there is a letter which I would like you to read. You see for yourself what truly transpired during the thirty-nine months between Mary’s arrival at London and the morning when I found little Rosy at my doorstep here. I have her note.”

John went to the closet, opened the safe and soon brought back an envelope. It had clearly been handled several times because the edges were folding and falling apart.

_Dearest John_

_This letter should find you well and my daughter Rosamunde should be safely in your arms – that’s all that I want in this life._

_Vincent turned out to be a beast, a monster with a maniacal appetite for sex. For months, nay years, he kept treating me like a tissue paper, use in the night and throw away in the morning, only to make me renew myself during the day for another use the next night. The only reason I tolerated this was because of Rosy. For her sake I allowed him to torture and torment me, disrespect me and hurt me regularly. He is so sadistic that I don’t have an inch of unmarked skin on my entire back which hasn’t tasted the lighted end of his cigarette._

_As a respectable woman I can’t even look myself in the eye anymore. I have stayed alive all the while, waiting for your return, so Rosy would be safely with you. Otherwise his most sinister and sickening gaze would be upon her as well. Can you believe it?!? His own friend John’s daughter and he would proudly tell me he’d keep hoodwinking you and moonlight as a friend while he sets his sight firmly on a young Rosy. The moment she’s older, he’d swoop down for the kill, just like a vulture._

_I can’t take a life except for my own. Hence I am going to do just that._

_Your friend and forever well-wisher, Mary_


	9. An Honorable Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock forgives John and the first sparks of happiness are lit

“What sort of man would I be if I had allowed that bastard to live?”

Sherlock saw John crying for the first time. He was both embarrassed and heartbroken and didn’t know how to react. A part of him wanted to give John a hug while another part told him he shouldn’t even think about doing so lest the manly pride of a former soldier turned current reputed surgeon was shattered by his move. “Of course not, no one would have,” Sherlock murmured instead, “Other than cowards and scum of course and you, Captain Watson, are an honorable man.”

John seemed to relax slightly. “Thanks,” he said, his look faraway as he traversed the lanes and alleys of a year gone past, “I started searching him on that very day but that bastard had a few more years to live because he had just departed for India. He stayed there for a few years, then in Korea for a year and finally came back to England barely a month before that day when I finally ended his miserable, pathetic existence. The moment I found out, I planned this. I found out he had returned to his estate but there were too many people to save him or just distract or deter me. So I was on the prowl, waiting for an opportunity when he would be alone somewhere. That was the train journey from London to Wellington, which he had taken that day. But a most unfortunate event occurred at the same time, I was told there was no one else on that compartment.”

“But there was.”

“There were! Two of you. In between someone else who knew him also dropped by.”

“So you couldn’t get a moment alone.”

“Nope! I left no stone unturned, kept hovering there, tried every possible moment but none were as perfect as the moment on the tunnel. Without the least bit of knowledge that it was you who was in that compartment I went in and did my job. The mere sight of his face…..”

“He apparently was thinking of _asking me out.”_

“Swine, the completely insufferable prick,” John growled, “If he had touched you, even once, I would have probably tortured him rather than give him a quick, painless death. Or near painless anyways. But I guess you would have been the perfect match for him – a man, wealthy, a young aristocrat just as he was! So then, when I found out that fate had played a cruel trick on me and you were the witness, I did what any doting father would.”

“Say no further. I don’t need to know any reasons here. There can be only one – Rosamunde.”

“Yes, precisely. I didn’t want her to become an orphan. But even then, the way I treated you was unpardonable. I still don’t know how I did that to someone _I was in love with…..”_

Sherlock’s eyes were round as saucers and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline almost. John immediately added, “You understand the war between a lover and a father and perhaps you might forgive me. Maybe then I can forgive myself too. I made a less of things and I don’t think self-forgiveness is possible until you say…..”

“Why would you beg anyone’s pardon for love? That’s no crime!” Sherlock paused for a few seconds and added with extra emphasis, “Especially since I too have been utterly and irrevocably attracted to you since day one, even back in those days when I loathed you for being a gun-toting criminal.

John blinked and stared in astonishment at Sherlock for a few moments. Then, as realization blossomed within him a happy grin broke through his face and smacked his forehead in a mock-rebuke. “Instead of acting like the lord of the manor and some autocrat I should have simply had a proper heart to heart talk, isn’t it?” He smiled, then looked at Sherlock again with that ‘Are you sure’ kind of question on his face. At that point Sherlock took a bold step, one which he knew he shouldn’t but it was necessary to do something to convince John that he was as much into this as he was, they were both wading in really deep now and there was no looking back again!

He kissed John on the lips.

That seemed to have unleashed an animal need in John because he mashed their mouths together, the kiss turning quite brutal and hard this time as John pushed the younger man down on the mattress and climbed on top of him. His hands went down Sherlock’s sides and as one squeezed a firm pert buttock, the other hitched up his sweater and shirt to feel so skin.

Sherlock was so dangerously close to cumming in his pants that he pushed John off after a few minutes and panted, lying on his back with alarm in his eyes. John quickly went to the door, bolted it and came flying back on to the bed. “What’s the matter?”

  
“I-uh-I might just cum….”

“No, you won’t. Not so soon anyways. Later when you cum don’t give up, we can be at it for more than two times!”

Plain-speaking John with his simple and straightforward words. They affected Sherlock more than any poem or romantic moment would. It was the simplicity of this man, his ability to just put him at ease which assured Sherlock that he was in safe hands.

Thereafter he surrendered completely to John, allowing him to peel his clothes off layer by layer. “Like an onion?” He teased.

“A huge feast to a starving man, layers of beauty unveiled, God you are so gorgeous Sherlock!”

***

Sherlock raised his hips and keened out as John entered him, gliding into his tight passage like a fist into a heated velvet glove. Sherlock was both snug and warm, so cozy and pleasurable that John breathed out the words ‘I could just stay there, disappear, inside you’ several times. Sherlock responded beautifully by raising his long legs in the air and his long wiry arms around his broad and strong back.

John’s moving and gyrating hips matched Sherlock’s constant pumping movement as he tried to fuck himself on John’s rather well-sized endowment. It was thick and long and a very light pinkish burgundy, with a thick mushroom head and a long shaft. Sherlock had spent many minutes simply enjoying it in his mouth like a lollipop.

They had already cum once so they took it slow and easy this time, building up a rhythm that suited both men and made them shudder and moan and curse alternately between heated and possessive kisses. Sherlock arched his back and moaned in abundance every single time his prostate was brushed and John reveled in the tight vault he was buried in, moving faster and faster so he could enjoy it to the fullest. And when he felt those soft elastic walls caving in on his throbbing erection, he cried out with joy and groaned from his impending orgasm. Toes beginning to curl and hips starting to move on their own now, he rasped out a warning to his young lover. ‘M’lettin’go-o’!

“Me-M-Me too,” Sherlock chimed in, eyes rolling to the back of his head and mouth opening wide in a scream that John had to block with a hand. Even then the scream was pretty loud as Sherlock came in a series of erratic jerks and several spurts splattered between their torsos.

John followed instantly, his controls failing at the sight of his mate going all out of control. Planting both the toes and knuckles on the soft mattress, he raised his torso and hips and made a series of jabbing thrusts as he came inside Sherlock, his semen flowing endlessly into his man.

Sherlock felt the wetness spread between them and down there and smiled, closing his eyes in satisfaction. He felt thoroughly claimed, marked and possessed.

In another way he couldn’t believe what he had just done, that too so soon after vowing off romance and sex only six months ago. Suddenly that heartbreak seemed like a convenient happening, not a tragedy. It didn’t hurt anymore. It all made sense now, perfect sense.

The universe had removed everything from his path, _making the coast clear for John Watson!_

He snuggled into John’s arms a few minutes later, cleaned up and wrapped with blankets, when John asked him an unexpected question. It proved his lover had taken a keen interest in him.

“So what were you running away from Sherlock?”

Sherlock got such a start that John started laughing. At first Sherlock felt foolish, then a bit pouty and then humor set in, making him giggle along with John’s chuckles. Finally he asked like a true sport, “How did you get to know?”

“You seem attached to your mother and mindful of the respect and position of your family in the larger society, however, not a word about your father or brother. Even my threats seemed to fall in place there, which means you have been in those situation before where you have felt compromised and even humiliated perhaps. Thankfully my family was supportive. Still, it was my desire to prove myself as a man, a real man, that made me choose both my professions so far – the army and the medical field.”

“You’re lucky. As for me, forget my immediate family, even my distant and larger family didn’t accept me. Every Christmas I am the white elephant, in a corner of the room whom no one would acknowledge. If they did, things would run to ugly proportions and everything they stand for would be instantaneously destroyed. Its bigotry and narrow-mindedness to an alarming degree! But that’s not the only thing that affected me. As a fifteen year old I was initiated by one of my brother’s friends, someone a bit older than him so he was in his late twenties when we had the brief affair on a holiday to his estate, Scotland. When his fiancée found out, he put the blame entirely on me for seducing him. I still remember her snorting, “Right Robbie, you are a child who was lured by candy.” She broke it off but his family and even my own brother blamed me!”

“Christ!”

“Took me three years to get over it. Then I went to Cambridge and over the course of the next five and half years there, I was approached by both men and women. With women, only one got me into her bed but it wasn’t exciting. I barely managed to finish and she gracefully allowed me to keep my secret. With men it was mostly groping and quick kisses and stolen looks etc. But around this time last year, as I was approaching the end of my academic cycle and preparing for the final exams, I met Simon. American, part of a student exchange program, he was here for six months.”

John quirked an eyebrow, “And?”

“We got along like a house on fire. Initially it was all physical but it took us almost three and half months to actually get intimate. But as the sheen wore off after a month, I discovered many unpleasant things about him. Several of them almost immediately.”

“Such as?”

Sherlock kissed John’s chest and drew invisible circles on his skin. “He was juggling three of us at the same time. One back in his native Cincinnati, one at Cambridge, one at London.”

“Shit, that must have been very unpleasant. Did you find out and punch him, flatten his American nose or not? Please tell me you did that Sherl.”

_Sherl, he called me Sherl!_ Sherlock smiled despite the narrative he was providing. “Well, we did get into a fistfight so you’re right there! I didn’t get hurt and he got only a mild bruise on his cheek. Still he managed to do worse to me than I imagined. He called up my father and threatened to expose this to the papers. Before leaving last June, he got himself paid for his silence. Scoundrel he was for sure!!”

John took a deep breath and so did Sherlock, both men letting those out slowly and long. Sherlock raised his head and kissed John’s chin and in response John pecked his forehead, which made the younger man feel loved and wanted. That was such an asexual yet heartwarming gesture, so endearing, that the hurt of talking about Simon diminished quickly. “The betrayal must have stung you bad but in a way such a person is easier to forget. The ones you love and then lose are the hardest to get over,” John whispered as he stroked Sherlock’s upper arm and shoulder, “But it’s something I have stayed away from, a committed relationship or hopes of a long-term one. Probably that’s why I had disappointments but no heartbreaks.”

“Now even I don’t think Simon was a heartbreak,” Sherlock quipped.

John’s hand stalled on his shoulder, “You don’t?”

“Not after meeting you, not after this. He wasn’t a patch on you. He was a boy.”

“And wanted a man? I am a man? _The sort of man you’d like to be with?”_

“Are you really talking about a committed relationship? I thought you said you avoided them.”

John took in a deep breath again and smiled, letting out a dry chuckle. “Guess what, we change our minds as soon as the right one comes along. Of course it won’t be easy, it never will be, but at least we can cohabit, coparent and coexist like a couple. Hiding in plain sight.”

A huge thrill swept through him and Sherlock smiled against John’s chest. “When we met I thought you were too young, just a kid out of college. But now I see you’re not so young. You’re a mature twenty three year old. Almost twenty four right? Yes, I noticed your birthday is on the 7th of January so that makes me think, is it a sin for a thirty four year old to contemplate a relationship on someone ten years younger?”

“Noo-ooo,” Sherlock said emphatically and slightly dramatically. “What makes you so sure?” John smiled down at him, pulling him closer.

“Because,” Sherlock yawned wide, getting sleepier by the minute, “It seems like that now but give it just a handful of years, the moment I cross thirty it won’t seem such a big gap. Nobody differentiates much between a forty and a fifty year old! Both are considered middle-aged!”

***

“Malcolm,” Sherlock frowned down at the slightly wet earth next to the boundary wall, “Come here and take a look.” As the groundskeeper shuffled closer and leaned in over Sherlock’s shoulder, the young man pointed out, “See those footprints?” Malcolm squatted before them and narrowed his eyes, “Yes sir, I do see them and they don’t belong to anyone in the house.”

“Precisely,” Sherlock was rather intrigued, “It seems someone has been violating the rules of trespassing and entering the property. Watch out for someone who walks with a support. See those marks, they are from a stick. Beats me as to how someone with a physical challenge could have simply crossed this wall.” Malcolm nodded obediently, “Sure sir, I will be alert from now on, always!

“I can’t blame him really,” Sherlock grumbled as he and John ate their breakfast together, “He can’t be awake and watchful twenty four hours a day and seven days a week! He has his day off every week and of course he has to sleep at night. If someone sneaks into the property and harms Rosy, that worries me! I wonder why lawless elements are tangling with us so often lately….. first that attack on me and you getting stabbed and now someone prowling around. I thought I saw someone earlier as well, not once but twice. It even seems like I have seen him before but….. nah, never mind, forget it.” He huffed, playing with his food more than eating any of the delicious fare.

“Sherl?”

“Hmmm?”

“That egg isn’t alive. Slice it, don’t stab it.”

“Oh! Was that what I was…” Sherlock smiled sheepishly, “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“It’s amusing how you’re defending the same man you hated earlier,” John said, “And he also eats out of your hands literally nowadays. Not that I am complaining or anything but it does seem like you’ve become the most important person in this house now. Guess what Rosy had to say this morning when I went into her room to wake her up. She was up already and after the good-morning kiss she says ‘Daddy, I like how Sherlock has taken half your bedroom now. Please don’t push him out of the bed like Julie did to me when I went there for a sleepover.’”

Sherlock burst out laughing and John reached over the table to hold his hand, “Thank _you_.” “No, _thank you_ ,” Sherlock replied, grasping his hand back, “I feel I have a _home now.”_

“It is yours, now and always,” John said and Sherlock knew this was the closest it could get to an early proposal. He smiled and resumed eating, his perfect happiness marred by only one factor – The rather terrible _secret_ which hovered over them and threatened to spoil everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course they won't find happiness so soon (nasty grin)!!!


	10. A new suspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wonders if his luck will run out soon while Greg Lestrade smells a rat

“SURPRISE!!!”

“JIM!!!”

“The one and only,” Jim made his usual dramatic entry, introducing himself with a flourish. He hadn’t arrived alone, Sebastian was right behind him tall as a Church steeple, smiling happily. No doubt he was just as pleased to see Jim back home as Jim was pleased to be back there. “We came to invite both of you,” Jim said chirpily, with much waving of arms, “For our Christmas get-together. Breakfast and lunch at our place, followed by some games. In between there will be the usual opening of gifts and maybe a Christmassy movie about the grinch! There will be turkey and Bourbon and a chocolate pudding and Bourbon and lobsters and the best cheeses and Bourbon…..”

“Got it, got it, Irishman likes his Bourbon! I thought you’d have preferred Guinness,” John smiled broadly, “Your invite is accepted with gratitude and joy Mr. Moriarty and we appreciate you coming home on time to your man. Otherwise his face was getting longer and longer by the day and soon might have exceeded his height of six feet four and half inches.”

“As if…..” Sebastian rolled his eyes.

All four began to laugh. “So the guest list,” Sebastian said as the laughter subsided somewhat and all of them sat in the conservatory for some mulled wine. The colonel took a sip and said, “That includes Major Sholto and his sister Helen, her grandkids who should be the same age as Rosy and they’ll get along just fine. Of course we have invited Greg Lestrade too. He will join us for the celebrations as well.”

“What about Mrs. Hudson?” John asked.

“Who is she?” Sherlock asked.

“A lady who lives in Worcester, a friend of my mother’s as well as Sebastian’s. Widowed, she lives alone now and has a niece who keeps fleeting in and out sometimes. Very nice lady, talks a bit too much but otherwise she’s a lot of fun. Excellent at cooking.”

“We’ve called them as well,” Sebastian confirmed.

“Let us know how we can contribute, okay? We’d like to organize in advance this year because the servants will have their own celebrations on the same day and we will try not to put anything on them at the last moment. Then there is also the…..”

“Who the hell is THAT man?”

Jim’s interruption brought the conversation to a halt and all of them turned in the direction Jim was pointing. It was somewhere in the garden, through the glass façade on the northern side. “Well I never,” Sherlock growled, leapt up and chased after the intruder. It was the same man he had seen earlier, almost a month ago. What on earth did he want?

“Wait, don’t go alone….” Sebastian called out, getting up, “John you stay here, don’t try to leap and jump because it might affect the injury…..” He shot out of the conservatory and followed Sherlock. “Be careful Sherlock….. I could help….” John protested, however he was held back by Jim who didn’t let him move out of the room.

Five minutes later Sebastian found Sherlock outside the gate and down the street a few meters. He was panting and watching a vehicle turn the corner in the distance. “He got away?” Sebastian asked, joining him, “I suppose it won’t be useful for us to chase after him now. He is too far away for us to catch up.” Sherlock straightened his back, “I chased him from the greenhouse and across the grounds, until the western side of the property. I have no idea how but he had managed to put a rope ladder over the wall and used that to climb in. Got out like a monkey, way too fast for me. Had a car waiting here so he was gone before I could even catch up or take a good look at him!”

“Let’s inform Greg. I mean Inspector Lestrade. He’s a good friend of ours and he’ll station one or two men of his around these parts, in plain clothes, to keep a strict watch on who’s passing by or skulking around. Three days later he’s joining us for Christmas celebrations.”

“Yes I suppose I will go and tell him today. I am not waiting that long anymore. This is the third time he’s been seen lurking around here.”

“Third time!!! Then yes, I suppose you better tell him as soon as you can.”

***

“Good evening, _Sherlock_ , right?”

  
“Yes, you _remember me_. That’s nice!”

The two men shook hands. Inspector Greg Lestrade’s station was small but neat and very well maintained. Files were neatly stacked, desks clean, visitors being attended to promptly, everyone was well-groomed and attentive. There was a deputy and three more officers on duty, a secretary and a telephone operator, both ladies, and an orderly. “Want some tea?” The inspector offered as he took Sherlock into his cabin, “Was making myself a cup and you can have one too, if you like.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Here! Alright, you got some more information for us to catch Viscount Spaulding’s killer?”

Sherlock cradled the cup and frowned, “No, not really.” He felt a cold shiver run down his spine when that subject was brought up. Things had changed since the day he had last spoken to Lestrade. Earlier he couldn’t wait to get to this man and spill the beans on John’s misdeed but now he was defending the man, which made him feel guilty in a certain way but also determined to shield John at all costs. Before he knew John’s reasons he was worried this man might be a John-sympathizer but now his worries had shifted elsewhere. Now he felt this man could get John into trouble.

“Well then, how can I help?” Greg insisted, leaning forward over the desk.

“Oh yes, of course, _help,_ ” Sherlock quickly composed himself, “The reason I came here today! You see Inspector, there’s this strange man who’s lurking around our property. I saw him for the first time almost a month and half ago, shortly after I got here. But that was outside the gates and wall at least. Since then things have gone worse. He has successfully entered the property twice in the past week or maybe thrice. This afternoon I chased after him but he got away. It’s a property which is well guarded – getting in or escaping are both equally difficult. Still, this man seems equipped to do both and we were fairly worried about Rosy who plays in the garden every day. She could be by herself sometimes.”

“Hmmm, that sounds strange because such crimes have never been reported anywhere around Hallow,” Greg tapped the edge of the table with his index finger, “Least of all around the manor. Both Watson and Moran are highly respected in this area and outsiders are just a handful, such as yourself, therefore they easily get caught out or spotted. Thanks for letting me know, I will keep an eye.”

“Thanks. That’s all I wanted to report.”

“Sit down please….”

“Pardon me?”

“Finish your tea and I may have a couple of questions for you.”

“Oh,” Sherlock wanted to leave as quickly as he could, “I see.” He felt scrutinized and wasn’t comfortable. “Sure, tell me. I didn’t want to waste your time since you’re a busy man.”

“On the contrary I am not busy really,” Greg said with a grin, “Not many crimes around this area. The incidents at Worcester have thankfully escaped us. We are a peaceful and content community here. So my men and ladies here and myself – we are always available to support you. Anyways, I just wanted to check, have any other details about the train murder come back to you yet?”

“Yet? I don’t remember forgetting anything even back then. No, no more details.”

“Good. It’s rather disappointing you know, not to be able to catch the killer who escaped from right under our noses. So then, if we call one of those experts they have nowadays in London with the Scotland Yard, those artists who make sketches based on descriptions given to them verbally, will you be able to help us by describing the murderer? You said he was blond, right?”

Sherlock was already on tenterhooks and quickly retracted his earlier statement. “Blond? No, maybe not. Perhaps he was a ginger. Yes a ginger! As for the sketch, that face has gone from my memory mostly. I only saw him for a flash after all. And now, I really must go.”

This time Greg didn’t stop him. “Your complaint is noted. I am in touch with John and will keep updating him on our findings.” He said as he walked Sherlock to the station door. As the young man scurried off as fast as his long legs could carry him, Greg turned to his deputy Andersen, a tall man with dark straight hairs that always seemed to be falling all over his eyes, and a permanent grumpy expression on his long, thin face. “Seems a bit odd you know,” he observed, “Last time I met him he had just witnessed a murder and yet he was remarkably steady and focused. Now it’s been six weeks or perhaps more and he should be relaxed and at ease. Instead today he seemed more high strung and nervous than that day.”

“You feel he was hiding something boss?”

“Seems like.”

“But what interest could he have in this?”

“This stalker, lurker, he could possibly be the reason he is nervous. Maybe he fears for his own life or someone else’s. If I were to think over what I heard from John, he is doing very well as Rosamunde’s tutor and settled in well. And yet, this lurker arrived after he arrived here.”

Andersen lit a cigarette, “It could well be the typical case of ‘Cop-Phobia’. Some people get worse when they are in here.”

“Maybe,” Greg said, “But something has changed since the day of the murder. Something that has made this man more guarded, cautious and withdrawn. I wonder if this young man from London holds the central key to the many locks we are up against, for this murder mystery. In any case we will need to solve it soon, the Viscount’s family and some of his high-positioned friends in London have been following up with me.”

***

John watched with a charmed, lustful smile as a naked Sherlock rode him. It was a middle of the night tryst, initiated by Sherlock when they’d woken up due to an open window and the cold air streaming in and making them shiver under the blanket.

John didn’t mind being woken up like that, not when it translated to such amazing sex. He knew he’d never get tired of watching Sherlock in the act, never. The beautiful and dutiful young man, with his sensuality and cleverness, had captured his imagination in a way no one had before and John knew he was ‘The One’.

Using his strong hands and firm grip to keep the moaning, shuddering young man upright, he encouraged him to continue riding him at his own pace and comfort. “Take your pleasure,” he urged huskily, running his hands up and down the smooth and sculpted chest and flat belly, “Don’t feel obligated to concentrate on me. I am doing very well, really!”

“Uhnnnnn…” Sherlock went, his green eyes shutting with sheer pleasure as he moved on the thick shaft with an even thicker head that throbbed and bobbed inside him. His hands began moving rapidly over John’s chest as a part inside him was brushed by one of his convulsive movements. It struck a raw and sensitive nerve and set off a million sparks all over his body, his cock giving a shudder and spilling out a thin trickle of pre-cum. John collected that and brought his hand to his mouth, greedily licking it off from his fingers. “Ohhhh…..” Sherlock moaned at the sight and leaned forward, his hips making jolted, jerky movements as the momentum of pleasure began to spike and keeping a steady rhythm became really difficult.

“K-Kiss me….”

John obliged. Then he half sat up and started making rough thrusts inside his man, drawing even louder moans from him. “Want me to….?” He left the question unfinished, letting Sherlock know he was happy to take over and reverse their positions. “N-No….” Sherlock objected and sped up, rolling his hips and moving back and forth so it slid even deeper in his arse.

“Fuck… Sherl… You’re going to push me over the edge…. Oh! Soon!”

“I want to feel you…. Cum inside me.”

“You-You sure? I-I can barely hold on…!!”

“JAWNNN!!!”

Sherlock almost stopped and John had to resume thrusting as he watched the younger man come apart. To aid him in the process he grabbed his bobbing erection, giving it a tight squeeze.

He scream of pleasure from Sherlock, followed by the screech of his release ricocheted off all the walls in the room and rang through the silent night air. John thought of kissing him into silence but before he could say or do anything else his orgasm crashed over him, brutally. Tremors swept right through him, sharp one that traversed throughout his body with the strongest ripples going through his thighs and groin and right down to his perineum. His sizeable balls drew up and throbbed and seconds later his dick pulsed out thick cum right into Sherlock’s still spasming channel.

“Oh darling,” he groaned as he saw spots dance before his eyes, “You are amazing.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without _you,_ ” Sherlock murmured in response, falling over the older man’s still shaking frame.

He felt a weird fear in his heart all the time. The way he felt about John was different, _totally different_ from everyone else in his life, even his family included. If this was love, _then he had tasted true love finally_. But, with a great love also came the chance of a great loss and now he worried day and night about someone finding out about John’s deed in that train compartment. It would be such a shame to let John go to jail for something he did to wrong a right, to avenge an innocent woman’s honor and life. If he held the scales of justice in his hands he would never ever allow anyone to touch even a hair on John’s head. But sadly he didn’t! Worries about John’s safety and his possible brush with the law kept haunting him constantly.

John dropped the soiled towel in the laundry bag and returned to bed, the covers lifting. “Hon?” He gently caressed his lover’s forearm, “Are you awake? Are you alright?”

“Yes! I am. I’m fine. Can I ask you something?”

“Yes sure, go on. You don’t need permission darling, you can ask me anything you want.”

“That Inspector Lestrade,” Sherlock felt John spoon him and share his pillow, “Is he honest, efficient and a dedicated public servant? I mean, how would you rate him on a one to ten as a friend and as a cop? Tell me the truth, don’t sugar coat or ask me counter questions please.”

“He and I have known each other ten years, ever since he came here to Hallow,” John replied, “Yes he is very honest and he won’t hesitate to put the handcuffs around his father or brother if need be. He can be tough but I’ve seen him deal with criminals, he’s wily and watchful but not cruel. Has a human side. They say soon he will leave for Worcester, for a bigger station and more responsibilities. A promotion is almost at the doorstep, just waiting for a go-ahead.”

“From whom?”

“His superior. The Inspector General of the country. But why do you ask?”

“I am sorry, I lied to you earlier that everything was alright. They aren’t. I will tell you everything frankly Jawn. In the earlier days when-when I didn’t know the full background of that Viscount, I hated you and was trying to get away from here and report you to the police. But I didn’t do so because I feared you’d get to know. I was worried that he might be on your side, that he might be corrupt and he’ll tell you. Now I feel he is nothing like that and you just confirmed my worst fears, so it means he could easily get you behind bars if he has one lead in that case. 

John was silent for a while. Then he sighed and said, “How long before my luck runs out!”


	11. The Suspicions Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the law-keeper keeps coming back to check something or the other, something is just not right

Early morning on the day before Christmas, exactly two days after Sherlock had visited the station, Greg Lestrade unexpectedly turned up at Glenn Manor. Sherlock was surprised but chose not to comment. He could have left the formal reception room immediately after greeting the inspector but he was curious about what Greg had to say, so he lingered around.

“So what brings you here Greg?” John asked, after tea had been offered and turned down, “Sherlock, Rosy and I are headed for London for some last moment shopping. Cedric is off so Graham will drive us and Pamela will accompany, to look after Rost. Must start in half hour tops to make it there on time.”

“I won’t take more than ten minutes I assure you John,” Greg said smoothly, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips, “You and your….. your….. Your daughter’s tutor Mr. Sherlock Holmes, must both remember about the most unfortunate incident that occurred on the train in which he arrived here in the beginning of November. That ghastly and bloody murder where a peer was shot in cold blood as the train entered the tunnel. I have some good news regarding the case which I thought might interest both of you,” he looked at them both, turning slowly from one to the other, “Especially you Sherlock since you were so keen to see the murderer caught by the police.”

“What might that be?”

John’s question was brief and asked in a neutral tone but Sherlock could see he was stiffening up, body going taut in anticipation of the revelation. He couldn’t hold John’s hand to show his support without the risk of disreputation, so he simply stood closer to John’s chair, offering his presence as the only support possible.

“We found the murder weapon.”

Sherlock got a start. Oh yes of course, the handgun, the one which was used to fire the shot. He had never asked John where that was or if the gun was registered in his name. He remembered that it was possible to identify the weapon of crime nowadays, simply by identifying the bullet and the make. In fact, they had discussed that incident only once and after that never again.

John kept his nerves steady and even managed to put on a surprised look. “That is very good news indeed Greg! While it certainly took your team time to do so, I assume that’s because you don’t have many feet on the street. So where did you find it and who owns that particular gun? Any idea about that?”

“You.”

“Huh?”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped just as John’s eyes went round as moons. “What-What are you saying?” The young man asked the inspector, getting annoyed by now, “What exactly is the message?”

“The gun we found, whose bullet claimed the Viscount’s life, happens to belong to a certain Colonel David Watson, father of Captain John Watson. John’s father was also a decorated officer and fought in the first war just as his son fought in the second. Yes John, the same weapon whose theft you had reported a fortnight before the murder actually took place.”

Sherlock immediately heaved a sigh of relief. _Clever, clever John, reporting the theft in advance_ so needle of suspicion never pointed at him. But even then, as the dark cloud seemed to pass from over their heads, Sherlock had the niggling suspicion that this inspector had not had his final word for the day. He was holding back on something else, there was something more in his back pocket that he was being tight-lipped about. “The weapon was found on the banks of a lake, about fifty miles from the site of the crime, with exactly one bullet missing. But that was not the most interesting thing. We decided to look into the lake and that’s why it took so long…. We discovered something even more interesting submerged in the shallow waters of its edges.”

“What did you discover?” John queried, holding his own admirably.

“A pocketknife. Its cover had also flown off, possibly when it was flung out. While the knife was in water and no fingerprints or anything else could be salvaged, the cover, if we find that too, might offer us a few valuable hints and clues. Anyways, just wanted to tell you your weapon will remain with us until it’s produced in court and cleared by it to be restored to the owner. Until then it remains with us as evidence.”

John relaxed visibly. “I see. Hope you catch the criminal soon.”

“Sure, I hope so too,” Greg said, giving John a nod of goodbye and then casting a sly look at Sherlock, “What about you young Mr. Holmes?”

“Why are you interrogating him my good friend?” John defended Sherlock immediately, “He has nothing to do in this case apart from being the unfortunate one to witness it.”

“I know, rather unfortunate I’d say. But the fiery Sherlock who had all guns blazing on the day of the crime was rather impressive. He assured us of all support. Therefore I thought he must be happy to know that whoever killed the Viscount is going to get arrested soon.”

“Of course I am very happy,” Sherlock replied evenly.

“See you both tomorrow. Safe journey.”

“Thanks Greg!”

As soon as the inspector had left. John turned to Sherlock and said, “We won’t discuss this.”

Sherlock shook his head, “We can’t wish this away John. Now he has two roads leading to his house from the scene of the crime – the first is me and the second is your weapon, which I wonder why you didn’t dispose in a safer, remoter place. What if he feels you tried to put the wool over their eyes by reporting a theft that hadn’t even taken place? What then?”

“What do you suppose we do then Sherl? Or rather, tell me what you would have me do? Do you have any better suggestions?”

“I don’t know, maybe we….. I really don’t know, I-I wish I could suggest something but my mind is blank right now, truly it is……” Sherlock sighed and flopped down heavily on a chair next to John’s, holding his head between his hands. John gave his partner a sympathetic look and ruffled his hairs gently, “You are taking this very seriously aren’t you? While I understand the reasons, I don’t want you to torture yourself by constantly worrying over something you have no control on. But if this makes you feel better let me state it, the weapon was stolen from my locker at the Worcester Royal Rangers Club, of which I am a member. Anyone could have taken it, one of the three hundred other members or the fifty odd staff.”

Sherlock felt a tad bit relieved. “That’s good.”

“Now let’s go and do what we were originally scheduled for – some Christmas shopping and while at it, we will buy something nice for your birthday as well,” John winked and pecked him lightly on his lips. “No, you don’t have to do that Jawn,” Sherlock murmured but he was happy as a lark again, his cheeks glowing and shining a bright red, “I’m not a kid really, I shall be twenty-four in two weeks. We’d leave these birthday celebrations for Rosy I suppose.”

“Nope, this is your first Christmas and birthday here, so you are going to be spoiled. Come on now, let’s go or we will never start and the day will be over!”

***

“I am going to follow them boss,” Andersen murmured as he watched John’s shiny Rolls Royce pass them and move towards the highway, “All the way up to London, in plain clothes, maintaining a distance and keep myself out of their sight. Anything else you want me to do?”

“Nothing other than call me at least twice in between and let me know about your observations. I shall be waiting for your call.”

“Absolutely sir.” Andersen responded, “But I was wondering why you’re suspecting a gentleman, a good Samaritan and a war hero like Dr. Watson?” Greg was quiet for a moment before he gave him the response. “No one said war heroes are untouchable or untainted. Try to notice the equation between John and Sherlock, do they seem friends or just employer and employee or almost hostile towards one another. There is something between them that I’m unable to name or put my finger to.”

“Very well sir, I shall try my best.”

“Good and that’s what I am counting on. Don’t forget, John knows you and Sherlock has seen you once, so either one of them might recognize you. Stay away and watch from a distance.”

“I hope you have your camera with you, the Japanese one especially made for us policemen and investigators, espionage artists aka spies etc. If you feel some pictorial proof can be gathered, by all means snap it up. Just don’t do that in the darkness because that would need the flash and if there’s a flash they’ll be aware someone is photographing them. Sort of defeats the purpose thereafter.” Greg paused and looked through some numbers, “In case you need any help in London contact this lady at the Yard, her name is Sally Donovan and she is one of the rare woman police…. Maybe I should call her a policewoman. She will come to your aid.”

“Policewoman? Is that as real as Santa?”

“Oh c’mon Andersen, let’s have an open mind shall we?”

“Hahaha, sure thing boss. I’ll call the policewoman if she happens to be needed but so far I haven’t needed my woman for any other reason than food, laundry and child-rearing. Christ! First they get voting rights, then they start to inherit property and now we have to get rapped on knuckles from a woman other than our mothers and teachers? What an age this is!”

Greg laughed, “Careful now Phillip. If I were you I’d keep my tongue to myself on these sensitive matters. Donovan outranks you, just so you know, and in case she ever overhears what you said about her and her kind, she may become dangerous for your future as a cop.”

***

“No, no, no,” Sherlock shook his head resolutely, “I refuse to let you buy anything else for me or anything so expensive.”

John gave him a blank look, “It’s only a watch.”

“Only a watch???” Sherlock sneered, “This is not ‘only a watch’ Jawn but a very expensive Omega. This watch is worth at least two hundred pounds. And you have already bought me a new trench-coat and matching boots and a pair of camel leather gloves. I don’t want you to give me too many gifts please. I hate inequality there so if you were to spend a thousand pounds, I’d like to spend in the high hundreds for you too.”

He paused and made a sheepish gesture, signaling towards his pocket, “I can’t afford that. I don’t have that much, my brother and father do.”

“There’s no thumb rule you have to spend just as much as I do.”

“That’s how I set my rules,” Sherlock said adamantly, refusing to back down. Seeing that he was not letting up, John decided to make peace and take the next step more discreetly. “Fine, allow me to buy you just this watch and after that it’s a full stop. No more gifts for you on this trip.”

“You said that last time as well.”

“This time I genuinely mean it,” John said with a big grin. Sherlock was about to protest when he thought he saw the reflection of a man in the mirror, a framed and ornate mirror that a fellow shopper was inspecting. He casually turned to the side and then took a full U-turn, sneaking a glance at the corner of the shop. Yes, he was there, the same man he’d seen two days ago at the police station! That was Greg Lestrade’s deputy. _Shit, why are they tailing us? I can’t tell John right away and spoil his fun and that of Rosie’s. I must be on the alert and stay in a watchful mode._ “Hey Jawn,” he said, “I have to buy something from that store across the street. I’ll meet you back here at one pm, is that okay?”

“Sure,” John replied, “I was going to be here for a while anyways. Got more gifts to buy, for Jim and Seb and the major. You go along and on your way back if you can pick Rosy up from the playpen. Hope she has finished her toy shopping as well. She wanted to buy a doll’s house and she better choose one of those at the ‘Little Muffin’ store. We aren’t going anywhere else.”

“Will do.”

As soon as Sherlock had left the shop, John asked them to pack the watch and add a pair of cufflinks as well, pure gold with emeralds studded on them. He had to give something real special to his Sherlock on the latter’s twenty-fourth birthday in twelve days!

Sherlock on the other hand headed for that store but all his attention was focused on Andersen. True to what he had predicted mentally, as soon as he left the store Andersen began to follow him. Knowing that John was safe from that spy, Sherlock led him down the street and almost two blocks away, where he happily climbed on a first floor ledge and smoked a cigarette. Then, he slowly sauntered over to the theater next door and looked at the posters and advertisements. Finally he went to check on Rosie.

Keep following me and I will kill you,” he muttered to himself as he caught a glimpse of a very dull looking Andersen, “With boredom and mundanity.” A grin spread over his face and he rubbed both his hands in glee.

The very next moment his smile disappeared. It was the intruder, the same man he had seen at the property and the same one he’d seen on the train on the fateful day that he witnessed the murder. The burly man, lame, with a stick, wearing thick glasses and a beanie hat that was pulled down to his brows. Good Lord, the man was in the building next door, talking to Rosamunde and ushering her out of the playpen in the toy store. He could see it all through the large glass panes of the shop-window.

Without wasting a moment Sherlock rushed towards the shop. He was unlucky though, as in he knocked against a lady at the entrance way and the resulting mini commotion that created caused the man inside to get alerted. As soon as he saw Sherlock he quickly turned and made his way out of the store from the exit on the other side.

Sherlock chased after him but when he came to the exit, he couldn’t see him. It was very crowded and all he saw were heads and more heads.

A soft tug on his hand made him realize Rosamunde had joined him and was holding his hand. “Rosy,” Sherlock put his other hand on top of her head, “Who was that man? What was he saying to you? Where is Mrs. Gooch?” Rosy didn’t seem scared or upset or even confused. She answered with an easy smile, “Oh him? He said he knows me very well and loves me very much. Didn’t tell me his name but he gave me this,” she produced two very nicely packed gift packages, “Said these should belong to me and must be my Christmas gifts from him this year. He also said sorry about not being there when I was younger. And-and Mrs. Gooch…. Um, oh well, there she is…. Paying for my dolls, puzzles and teddy bear!”

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Sherlock said, ushering her out of the store and raising his arm to draw Mrs. Gooch’s attention. When she saw him she raised her hand back and indicated she would be with them very soon. “What happened Sherlock?” Rosy asked.

“Nothing really, don’t worry, it’s alright.”

“It is. But you seem scared. I’m scared too when you are scared.”

“No darling, don’t be. There is nothing to worry about, nothing at all.”

Now he was totally convinced that the man he had seen for the past few days around and within their property and who had just given Rosy a few gifts, was the same lame man from the train. The man he had met while he was smoking and who seemed to be in a hurry to get to the dining car. Who was he and why on earth was he hovering around their house and giving presents to Rosy? Despite his challenges physically he seemed to be very swift and athletic, pretty strong even. Was that a walking stick or a cane? Was he pretending to be lame so as to appear innocuous and benign?!

“Let’s go hon.”

John’s whisper in his ear shook him out of that ‘haze’. He gave his man a temporary blank look, “What? Where?” “Restaurant,” John smiled, “To have lunch. Then some more shopping, then Tom Thumb play for Rosy and Twelfth Night for us. Or would you rather go and watch that movie, the Hollywood movie that’s just been released….. The Men, I think Brando is in it….”

“No,” Sherlock said, “Just lunch and then back home. I want to go back.”


	12. The Needle of Suspicion Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg Lestrade has sniffed out a trail from the murder to.... Sherlock!

“It’s strange but I don’t think you should worry too much,” John said as they lay in their bed that night. Naked and exhausted after a long day and an intense round of sex, Sherlock had expected to fall asleep quickly but struggled to calm his frayed nerves.

_Something isn’t right, something isn’t right, I am missing something somewhere!_

“You’re asking me not to worry too much? Is that a fair expectation? And can you honestly say you’re totally unbothered by his mysterious presence and manners? A stranger lurks around our house, chats up Rosy in a shop in London, gives her some gifts and they turn out to be beautiful but used toys – a rag doll, a shaggy dog and a wooden mask, runs away whenever I see him and the worse is that he-he……” Sherlock swallowed the following words and remained silent. “C’mon now, say it,” John kissed the top of his head, “Don’t make it difficult on both of us. If there’s something on your mind at least share it with me, maybe I can try to help. What’s the worst thing about this lurker?”

“He was on the train, same compartment, as me…. on that day.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock felt John stiffen up and sighed, “I told you I don’t want to discuss.”

“Well it’s not fair that you suffer for my sins Sherlock. It’s not that I don’t realize what you’re going through. Ever since we’ve got closer, you live in extreme fear of seeing me caught and dragged to the station. Perhaps jailed. But there isn’t anything to lead them on, believe me. Even the Viscount’s friendship with me was forged and nurtured abroad, not here. There is no way we can be linked and a murder motive produced.”

“But this man, what about this man? He might want to get Rosy away from us. He might want to draw you out and get you convicted by your own confession, by using Rosy as a bait.”

John sighed, “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself Sherl. Worrying breeds anxiety and anxiety gives birth to hallucinations. Don’t do this to yourself, especially when the festive season is on us and then there’s your birthday right after the New Year! C’mon, give us a kiss and then go to sleep. I think it’s better for you start working on that book you’ve been tasked to write, now that Rosy will be in school for a better part of the day.”

“Yeah, I guess so too,” Sherlock rolled over and cuddled into John, “I need to know, meet and speak to more people too. Probably I am spending too much time indoors or within this property. I’ll start going around more.”

“That’ll be nice! Goodnight now.”

***

“Merry Christmas boss,” Andersen was surprised to find Greg in his cabin early Christmas morning, “I thought you were taking the first half of the day off and visiting the MorMor villa for Christmas lunch? Aren’t you going there?”

“I will, later in the day,” Greg was somber and somewhat sad. His deputy placed a mug of coffee before him and took a seat across the desk, “What’s the matter Greg? As a friend, I am asking you. You seem preoccupied.”

Greg sighed and handed Andersen a piece of paper. “I guess the postman also wants to finish early and join his family, so he left the mail at 6-30 am today. This came along with it, a report sent by the London lab where I had sent the cover of the pocket knife, which we found on the dry grassy, sandy banks of the lake. Unlike the murder weapon which had no fingerprints and the knife which was submerged in the water and therefore useless in terms of clues, this had a bit of fingerprint and skin on it. The cover had a sharp edge and perhaps it scraped the skin of the owner, who tried to toss it away. It was, I think, the intended murder weapon. When the scales tipped in a different direction, the murderer chose to adopt Plan B, which was the gun.”

“But the fingerprints, who do we match them with? All the passengers…..”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“That London kid?”

“Not quite a kid. I heard he has a violent streak. Nearly strangled an American, an exchange student on a tour of Cambridge, in a fit of rage at a London townhouse last year. Sometimes appearances might be deceptive my friend. But we must hold our opinions till we test the fingerprints for a match.”

Andersen sighed, “Are you thinking what I am thinking boss?”

“Yes. John and he are in love, as you reported after your observations of their London sojourn last afternoon and John is trying to protect him. Obviously.”

“Do you plan to warn him?”

“Of course I should. In fact, I want you to find out something right away. Call John’s club and check if Sherlock was there any time in the last few months? The gun, it was stolen from the club, right? In that case it had to be removed by Sherlock or someone close to him.”

“But boss,” Andersen said, “Why would he steal an ex soldier’s gun and take up a job in the same man’s house later?”

“I don’t think he was aware it’s the same person in both cases. He randomly picked a gun which was being cleaned out, as part of the services rendered by the club for the officers and ex-officers. It’s a sheer coincidence he turned up at the same man’s house for a job a little later. But this coincidence won’t serve him well, not if I get my hands on the correct evidence.”

The inspector gave his deputy a wistful smile. “The problem is; that kid is someone I liked. Quite a lot actually. He seemed bright and energetic and with a sense of purpose, something lacking in most twenty-somethings nowadays. And today, amidst the festive cheer and spirit of generosity and forgiveness, I am attending a Christmas get-together with an ulterior motive of finding evidence against someone. Namely, fingerprints.”

***

“This is amazing, what a beauty she is,” Sherlock murmured as he and Jim stood around the shiny maroon Packard luxury sedan with four doors and custom seating, dashboard and panels. It was Christmas day and they had all assembled at the MorMor villa. “She is, isn’t she?” Jim grinned from ear to ear as he proudly showed off his Christmas present from the studios he was signed up with, the ones which flattered stars during Christmases, Easters and birthdays to keep them happy, “Seems even better when you don’t have to pay a penny for a car that’s worth fifteen thousand pounds. _Maybe more_. America lives and breathes Packard and Cadillac nowadays, you know!”

“So this is the best gift eh?” Sherlock teased, “Not the ones given by Seb?” He was fiddling with the toy on the dashboard, a miniature model of the same car. It had been fitted at the factory, “Hey, this one’s come loose.”

“Oh that’s me,” Jim grinned, making a contrite face for a moment, “It accidentally came out in my hands as I was pawing it this morning. As for the best gift this year, it has to be the celebratory shag I had with Sebby this morning, five times! Come on, don’t be a prig and don’t give me that ‘I don’t believe you’ look! People have sex all the time you know, some longer than the others! Anyways, I really liked Sebby’s other gift too, he got me my first stallion, Sugarcane. I love to ride as you know and Sugarcane is an easy one, such amazing soft black mane, perfectly trained and calm!”

“Hello Greg,” Sherlock said when he saw the inspector saunter into the garage, “For a moment I thought you were hiding behind the Continental.”

“Hi Sherlock! Just came to check out the new beauty, shall I Jim?” Greg asked with a smile. Jim nodded and waved his arm, asking him to go ahead.

As the inspector looked at the car, the exterior as well as the custom made wood and leather interiors, Sherlock and Jim chatted about the lunch menu and how many Bothans had died in the preparation of that meal while keeping it a secret from him and Sebastian. “It was almost like a war in the kitchen,” said the Irishman, “But I think the wait and effort will be all well worth it. How about we pack the leftovers for your dinner…..” he paused and craned his neck past Sherlock’s broader frame and asked with a frown, “Hey Greggie! You are taking my little dashboard toy-car with you. All by mistake, I suppose.”

Greg, who was walking away from them garage, abruptly turned and smiled sheepishly, “Oh yes James, so I was. Pardon me. I was preoccupied with something and picked it up by mistake.” He put the scaled down model of the car back on the dashboard and hurried away.

***

After lunch they were all playing games, card games. Greg constantly kept fidgeting and looking for ways to get hold of something touched by Sherlock so he could submit it for fingerprints. He tried to pocket the wineglass but the butler took it away from his hand. He even tried to get his handkerchief but little Rosy showed up at that moment, squealed ‘That’s Sherlock’s’, startling the inspector and snatching it away from his grasp. But even as those moves didn’t work as he had hoped, something else did proceed along the expected lines. As they played, he heard Mrs. Hudson ask if she had seen Sherlock earlier somewhere and the latter answered that a month before his appointment, he had arrived at Worcester by car and accompanied his mummy to the Rangers club, for a charity luncheon and exhibition.

Greg Lestrade, instead of feeling happy, actually felt a tad bit sad. Fingers of suspicion were steadily pointing at Sherlock and the young man was slowly getting into the mire, without any knowledge of it.

As the game went on, he noticed that there was a silver cigarette case that Sherlock had received as a gift from Sebastian which was the same design as the one he owned. Very cleverly he placed his own case near Sherlock so the young man mistook it for his own and picked it up. After waiting with bated breath for almost half an hour and keeping a hawk eye on the young Londoner, his plan worked! Sherlock saw the case, thought he had left his own case there, and grabbed it. Immediately Greg quipped, “Oh that one’s mine. I think yours is on the other side, over there.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock said, revealing his cards rather ironically at that point, “Aces!”

Everyone clapped. Jim mock growled. John chuckled and muttered ‘Well done Sherl’.

Only Greg didn’t seem to be too enthused by the proceedings of the game. Instead he stretched his arm over Major Sholto and Mrs. Hudson to take the case from Sherlock. Just at that moment, John huffed out a ‘Let me help you guys’ and grabbed the case from Sherlock.

Greg deflated completely at that sight, dismayed.

“Here you go,” John stated cheerfully, “You don’t have to do arm gymnastics to reach a simple cigarette case. You could have asked me, I am in the middle.”

Greg gave him a grump stare and huffed, “So I see. So I see.” He muttered and put the case next to himself, knowing that the dominant prints would now be John’s and it would be fairly difficult to get a hold of Sherlock’s fingerprints. He cursed himself for not taking them the day Sherlock had come to the police station. _Maybe dusting the teacup for fingerprints would have helped_ but at that point in time he hadn’t even imagined Sherlock to be a prime suspect.

_And now John is doing all he can to protect him, including sabotaging my plans unknowingly._

As the day dwindled into twilight and all the guests besides Mrs. Hudson and her niece (who were supposed to stay overnight) began to disperse, he saw no choice but to follow suit. Sherlock and John were at the doorway, thanking and hugging and shaking hands with the hosts, chatting pleasantly with them and promising to host the New Year’s Party at their place, when Greg offered a subdued goodbye and quietly slipped out. He was sitting in his car already and almost about to take off his transparent, near invisible gloves (he had worn them post lunch so as to avoid getting his fingerprints over those of Sherlock’s) when Sherlock came running towards the car.

“Hey,” the young man bent a bit, bringing himself to eye level with Greg, “You forgot something.”

“Did I now?”

“Yes, this thing. Here!”

Greg couldn’t help but send up a thankful prayer as Sherlock handed him his lighter, holding it in the open palm of his right hand.

***

Only sounds of groans and grunts could be heard in the room as Sherlock and John indulged in a bit of morning sex. They had retired to bed early and a bit drunk, passing out straight after. But it was an early hour for them, only 10 pm, naturally they were awake by 6-30 the next day.

John’s eyes grew big and were glazed over by a sheen of pure pleasure as Sherlock’s hot mouth moved on his rock hard cock. For the love of all that was on earth, heaven or hell, John had no idea how the younger man managed to take him fully in. _A bottomless throat_ , he mused.

His groan was muted by the man-meat in his mouth. Sherlock’s throbbing length was sliding in and out of his lips, his balls slapping against John’s chin and throat as the younger man excitedly fucked his wet mouth. Strange coos and hisses, sloppy slurping noises and gargling sounds floated in the room along with the creaks and squeaks of the four poster bed. Now and then a foot scraped a headboard, now and then a pillow fell on the floor or some item or the other on one of the nightstands was struck down by a slammed wrist.

Sherlock screamed around his mouthful as his hips shuddered hard, John’s insistent suckling drawing his release out in the most forceful manner. He felt himself sink somewhere deep and dark but magnificently pleasant before he found himself floating weightlessly in the air, tremors and shocks in his groin, thighs and abs making the rest of him shake as well.

Those muffled sounds vibrating around his cock, followed by the gush of semen in his mouth was enough for John to reach his orgasm, which he did so abruptly that he even forgot to warn Sherlock like he always did. Today his controls simply deserted him and his morning wood needed it so much that he came instantly, falling headlong into the depths.

His hips began to move on their own as he came and came, rolling over to his side so he could fuck Sherlock’s wet hot mouth through his orgasm and aftershocks, grabbing at his curly hairs as Sherlock continued to shudder and groan with his own ecstasy, remaining hard even after his spectacular climax. John’s hands moved up to Sherlock’s buttocks which were the next things he clasped at, squeezing the mounds of flesh hard as he felt his strength drain and rush down Sherlock’s willing and relaxed throat. For a moment or two he was in the danger of passing out, his balls were beginning to literally implode from all the sensations and his body buzzing so hard he thought he was dissolving into a sweaty mess.

Just when he thought he couldn’t breathe nor could he feel any greater pleasure than this, the sensations began to retreat and with a shuddering exhale he came back into the real world. The sounds of Sherlock’s pants and his own grunts came to his ears, the white haze lifting to reveal the room and their surroundings once again.

“Mmmm, tasty as ever,” he murmured as he kissed the now soft cock of his lover and then between Sherlock’s butt cheeks, the central crack and tiny opening he so loved. Sherlock giggled, “Jawn, do you think Rosy will call me daddy someday, just like she calls addresses you as papa? Will we ever tell her the true nature of our relationship?”

“We will. Maybe when she is turning thirteen and an inquisitive teenager. Knowing her mother, I am pretty sure she will be open and accepting of who we are. Truth be told, you’re not different to her as I am. We are both her fathers by love, by the bonds of duty and heart.”

“You’re right.”

_“I love you Sherlock.”_

“What? What did you say?”

John sat up with some effort and cupped his lover’s cheek. “I know it’s too soon for the ring to pop out. Between us we might not even have a ring, ever. But that doesn’t mean we love or care about each other any less. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I pledge I would live out the rest of my days with you, treasuring and cherishing you and _ensuring your happiness_ at all times.”


	13. The Man with a Limp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets arrested

“Hey, there you are, there you both are!”

The snow had stuck to the ground this time and the post-Christmas days had a fairy town like landscape at Hallow. Sherlock and Rosy were building a snowman but the head, which they had somehow managed to place on the narrow torso, fell off at the sudden loud shout. Almost immediately John started to chuckle and suppressed it by repeatedly clearing his throat.

Sherlock frowned. He rebuked his lover, “Now that’s no way to undermine the efforts of a little gi….. OH!” He looked at their snowy creation with horrified eyes, gaping at the sight which had got John so amused. The snow was still powdery and not soft enough to be properly molded, hence the snowman’s body was not rotund enough but rather narrow and straight. With the head falling off and the torso still standing, it looked conspicuously like a _giant erection or a huge and erect male genitalia_. “Papa you made Sherlock angry,” Rosy was cross, unaware of the comical sight, “He agreed to do this for me, you didn’t even want to leave the fireside. Now you are laughing and that is so, so, so bad!”

“Oh papa is sorry,” John said, “I guess we should wait a few more days and try the snowman again. For now, go inside and drink your hot chocolate. Ruthie has made something delicious for you, with the caramel and cream topping!”

“Oh wowwww!!!”

Rosy ran indoors and John and Sherlock followed, entering the cozy and warm study. They sat by the fireplace and held hands, John peering into Sherlock’s expression. “Hey,” he said, “Three days into a confession of love, a man in love should look and sound happy, right? If that’s the case then why does he seem gloomier than the weather? C’mon, don’t try telling me all is well because something is surely not.”

“Every time the phone rings or someone speaks about Greg Lestrade, I fear losing you.”

“Oh dear, not again, not again please.”

“Are all my fears _unfounded and unreal_ Jawn? Tell me they are and I promise I will never bring this topic into our conversation again.”

“No, I can’t say they are totally unfounded but you’re giving them way more importance than they deserve. Now cheer up, we have to put in some effort into the New Year’s Eve dinner. We have twenty guests, so not a big group, but Gooch and the others will need some instructions.”

“You handle the beverages and food Jawn, I will look after the other arrangements for the evening. I am planning a sleepover at our place for one of Rosie’s friends, so she isn’t alone and neglected while we’re having an all-nighter.”

They stopped talking as a very flustered Gooch appeared, “The inspector is here sir and in the police vehicle, with two men, uniformed and armed. I told him you’re busy but he insists on seeing you right away. He says he has no appointment for today.”

“It’s okay, show him in,” John began, not the least bit bothered while Sherlock felt his hands run cold, “For friends I don’t need…..” But Gooch interrupted him, one of the rarest occasions when he did so. “Sorry Mr. Watson sir, but he said he would rather see you and Mr. Holmes at the foyer. He said he’s on duty so he won’t be coming up here at the study.”

“What does that even mean? I hope all is well,” John said, charging out of the study. Sherlock leapt up and ran after him, physically blocking him. “No, don’t go. Please. Let me handle this. You don’t go. Stay in the study please. Please, for God’s sake, for Rosie’s sake, just listen to me and do as I say!” That took John by surprise and he stopped at the top of the stairwell, “But why? He wants to see me and since I am home I should be the one to receive him. Don’t worry, it can’t be what you think it is. There has to be something else he wishes to talk about. Maybe about that fellow who was lurking around these parts.”

“Please.”

“Sherlock, I am….”

“PLEASE!”

“Alright, if that means so much to you! I’ll be upstairs at the study for the next few minutes. If everything is fine and normal and you’re back with me, then all good. If in five minutes you’re not back, I _will go downstairs_ and join you at the foyer.”

“Thanks,” Sherlock said and hurried downstairs.

He saw a very grave looking Greg standing there, along with two of his officers. The moment Sherlock greeted him, the greeting was returned in a subdued, just about civil manner. “What’s the matter Greg?” Sherlock asked, his stomach beginning to turn and churn, “It seems like you have come to arrest someone here. Surely you must have got the address wrong.”

“On the contrary I have the right address,” Greg said in a sad, resigned manner, “I wish I could say I am at the wrong address and my reasons for visiting is purely social but that would be a lie. I am indeed here to arrest someone, though I am hoping that they won’t create a ruckus and will gracefully come along to the station with me.”

“No,” Sherlock was determined not to let this happen to John, “No, I am sure there’s some misunderstanding. John can’t be…..”

“You have to come with us Sherlock.”

“I don’t think he is…… WHAT?”

“You are under arrest Sherlock Holmes. You are accused of the murder of Viscount Vincent Spaulding. You have the right to remain silent and requested to cooperate with us. You are entitled to a lawyer and in case you do not find one, the government will assign you a lawyer. Anything you say right now might be held…….”

Sherlock didn’t hear the rest. It came as such a shock to him that he found himself dumbstruck and confounded. They were arresting him as the killer???!!! But he was not…… _no, no, no, he couldn’t let them take John. John had to take care of Rosy, he had people dependent on him, he had already suffered too much. He had served the country, got shot in war, he deserved to live out the rest of his life in peace. He didn’t need to be dragged through muck. That monster deserved to be shot like the swine that he was, poor John couldn’t be sent to jail for what was a actually a well-deserved punishment for that brute_. It started to make sense to him, why he was here and why he had connected with John.

So he could be their savior – John and Rosamunde. _You need to be gallant Sherlock, you need to be selfless._

“I am ready to go with you,” he said, calm as an oasis, “Right now?”

“Yes, afraid so!”

“That’s perhaps best. I am not good at saying goodbyes.”

***

“WHERE IS SHERLOCK? WHERE IS HE?”

The amiable and gentlemanly Dr. John Watson was like a bull in a china shop as he burst into the front room of the station, then made for the hallway which led to the holding cells.

“Calm down John, Seb please hold him back, John you can’t act like this at a police station,” Greg, Andersen and another officer named Hicks had a tough time pushing back John who seemed to have acquired superhuman strength out of his rage. John merely growled like a wounded animal and shoved him aside. “Sebastian, don’t just stand there, do something man!” Greg looked desperately at the tall blond man who seemed to be the only one capable of stopping John physically at this moment.

“I will,” Sebastian said, “Provided you promise we can meet him right now.”

“Okay, very well, I can organize an audience with him but you must follow the rules first and give a written application. Then it will happen, in a closed room, under my supervision.”

“How could you do this Greg?” John was aghast and dismayed and, seeing his crumpled expression, even the tough inspector inside Greg Lestrade threatened to melt. But he knew better than to betray his duty and integrity. Even John was a man who had high integrity and sooner or later he would understand that his hands were simply tied. “Sorry, but this isn’t personal and I can’t keep it so,” the inspector sighed.

All the anger and strength seemed to leave John in a flash and he semi leaned on the wall with his hand, “I love him Greg. With you I can share, I love him and he means the whole world to me, to Rosy to everyone back at the Manor. He isn’t a criminal, how can I assure you that?”

“John, the only thing I can ask from you is patience,” Greg said as he led John into a waiting room where criminals were allowed to meet their family or lawyers, “Patience to allow law to take its course and give the best verdict. The correct judgment. The court is unbiased and if we get him a good lawyer he might get away with only seven years, reduced to five when you consider the good behavior and background he has so far displayed. That man was flirting with him and we have proof of that, in the form of the letter and gift. If we can build a case of gross indecency against the deceased Viscount, we may even get him away with three years and a slightly heavy fine and some community service.”

“No Greg, he’s innocent,” John was desperate by then, so deeply ashamed of his own act and how dismayed that the axe he was trying to evade had fallen on his beloved Sherlock, that he was ready to embrace his fate and be jailed for life if need be. Sherlock was NOT going to pay the price of his crime or his loss of control over himself. Now he cursed his own mind and heart, for taking the law into his hands.

“John, every single accused I have dealt with so far says they are innocent but Sherlock has confessed to his crimes.”

“What??? WHAT!!!”

“Yes, he did. He said that man came on to him rather strongly and was being so obvious that he felt an onlooker would mistake that for interest from both sides. Therefore he tried to threaten him but by mistake the gun went off.”

“It won’t happen that way……” Sebastian murmured, looking thoughtful.

“Why not?”

“I just read your charge-sheet. How will you explain the knife? How will you explain the stolen revolver? It will seem like a longstanding vendetta, a planned event which Sherlock did on purpose, what they call a cold-blooded crime. He will get a lifetime behind bars. I know law a bit because my cousin is a barrister. This doesn’t look too good for Sherlock.:

“In that case…..”

“No Greg,” John intervened, “No, this needs to end now. I have decided, made up my mind. The truth is going to come out now and there will be someone behind bars, but that person is not going to be Sherlock Holmes but……”

“But John Watson? Is that what you’re going to say?” Greg asked, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. Sebastian gasped, looking shocked, “What the hell John?” But before John could say a word Greg stumped him totally by revealing a conversation he had with Sherlock. “Sherlock told me you would try to do something like this. He said you will try a sudden pyrotechnic of taking the blame on yourself or even making an outlandish statement like you had hidden your own weapon and reported it as missing. You would come up with ludicrous excuses to put yourself on that train that day. It won’t work John, it seems the lad has taken a conscientious decision to face the consequences of his action. Aside from considering his age and background, no-crime record and the fact that the Viscount indeed was trying to flirt and there’s a witness to that…. A fellow passenger in that compartment named Molly Hooper, we can get him out in five to seven years.”

John grabbed his head and howled with anguish.

“Oh no Sherl, oh no, why, why?”

***

“You idiots, both of you,” Jim snarled at both John and Sherlock.

Sherlock had been denied bail so they had to meet him at the station again. As a personal goodwill gesture, Greg Lestrade had allowed them the use of his cabin, agreed that Sherlock will have home cooked food and everyone would treat him politely, like a gentleman.

“Now that you know the whole story, we being idiots in love or not, tell me is it fair that he goes to the prison and I live out the rest of my life outside, in luxury and liberty,” John had aged five years in two days and looked ramshackle, to say the least, “I avenged my friend, a poor and helpless pregnant woman. Sherlock is protecting me, so Rosy has a parent and doesn’t get orphaned. Neither of us have done anything on malicious grounds. Why can’t the law treat us with the mercy we deserve? In fact, Sherlock’s finger print on the cover of the knife, his skin found on it was because he had collided with him and unknowingly touched and scraped his hand against that item. It’s coincidence, not crime.”

“How will you prove it though?” Greg asked.

“How about the letter?” Sherlock said, looking at Jim, “You did mention the letter could help.”

Jim nodded, “It can surely help but then John will be inside for a few years. This will get him off easier than a normal cold-blooded crime but won’t absolve him of all guilt. You both are in deep shit man. I wish you would have told us, any one of us and we would have come up with a proper step to take rather than let the lawman knock on our door.”

He glared at Greg and was about to curse out at him but Sebastian intervened and stopped his boyfriend. “No honey,” he said gently but firmly, “We can’t blame Greg for doing his duty. That won’t be fair. Do remember that thanks to men like him we have no crime here at Hallow while the neighboring city is bustling with thugs and anti-socials.”

“Guys, there is no way out of this,” Sherlock spoke with a knowing smile, “Either ways, both Jawn and I are doomed. Neither of us can be happy without the other. No matter who’s in jail and who’s out, we’ll both remain miserable. Rosy will live with a stigma. Exposing Mary’s letter would bring shame and a lot of other dark secrets out in the open. The secret which John had preserved for years to the detriment of his own conscience will haunt the little girl forever. We can’t bring Mary back but at least allow John to do his duty, which is to raise Rosy well and give her a good life. As for me, I was an unwanted limb in my family for a long time. Only my mother will be unhappy and miss me, otherwise everything else will be fine within a few weeks.”

“And you think I will let you ruin your life darling?” John asked bitterly, “Just because you want to be gallant, show your kind and sacrificing side? You could be a great parent to Rosy too. I’d make you my heir and her your ward. I suggest I take your place…. Sherlock, Sherlock, wait, don’t walk away please……” But by then Sherlock was out of the room.

“Oh shit,” Jim did a facepalm. Sebastian was astounded and asked, “Why is he doing this?” Greg sighed, “It’s love friends, it’s pure and unselfish love. Now I feel like a bloody fool.”

“Can we not do anything else Greg?”

“No, I have been trying all ways possible. What did your cousin say Seb?”

“He said this will be open and shut. He can reduce the sentence but there will be jail time.” Amidst all this chatter, John just sat there still as a statue, tears streaming down his cheeks. He had never cried before, not even during the horrors of the war, on the death of his parents or on reading Mary’s letter. But whenever he imagined Sherlock going to jail in his place, he felt like killing himself.

“Who’s there?” Jim suddenly called out loudly. Almost immediately they heard footsteps receding and the sounds of a stick being thumped on the ground. “Let me check,” Greg went outside while Sebastian urged John to return home. “Our place first, come for a drink.”

Greg came back a few minutes later, looking very puzzled. “A man with a limp visited, asking for me. Then he apparently listened to part of our conversation from the doorway and left in a hurry. By the time I reached the gate he was already driving away. Strange!”


	14. Mystery Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unlikely abduction and even more unusual revelations

Rosamunde Mary Watson was playing in the garden but she was not in her usual cheerful mood. Mrs. Gooch was trying her best to cheer her up but she was absolutely despondent, upset that her father was unhappy and Sherlock had left suddenly, without a proper reason. Her young mind simply couldn’t deal with the shock that her tutor, whom both she and her father adored so much, could simply abandon them overnight.

“Stay here, don’t go anywhere, least of all not outside the gate, understood?” Mrs. Gooch said to her as gently as she could and added, “Someone has called. I need to go and check. I won’t be too long, okay?”

“Okay,” Mary said obediently and politely but her voice lacked the strength of an energetic and bubbly seven year old. She had been making a gift for Sherlock and John, secretly putting her thoughts for them and their ‘special friendship’ on to paper with colorful crayons. Finally the gift was ready but the recipients were not there anymore. Sherlock was gone and no one would tell her where. Even her papa seemed so remote and absent and lost that she didn’t dare approach him. She kept staring at her toys and cuddling the doll Sherlock had bought for her as a Christmas present, her eyes on the grass and snow around her. Suddenly she heard footsteps behind herself and asked without even turning, “Hello, is that you Peter?”

“Uncle Peter little one.”

“Uncle Peter, sorry.”

“How are you? Why do you look so sad?”

“I am now an orphan Uncle Peter.”

“Jesus Christ child, whoever told you something so cruel an untrue? You have me, I am your uncle, I will always look after you and…..” the man put his cane away and sat on a low stool next to her as she sat on the thick mat spread out on the damp grass. “And we will…..”

“My papa,” Rosy interrupted him in a broken voice, “My papa is sad and if he’s sad so am I. I can’t leave him. How can I? I have a letter from my mama, she left it for me you know. She told me to look after papa just as papa looks after me. Forever. She wanted us to be one team, one family. Family backs up its members, that’s what is written by her. I will never let my mama down, I want her to be happy when she sees what I am doing.”

The man’s light green eyes narrowed and he looked positively strained. “Your mama left you a letter? Did she?”

“Yes. Papa gave me when I turned seven and could understand….”

“Do you have it with you child? Is it possible for me to read it? Can you get it for me before that nanny of yours is back here?” He kept the real truth from the little girl, that _he was the one_ who had asked one of his lackeys to keep the woman engaged on the phone indoors while he met and spoke to Mary’s child.

***

_Dearest darling Rosamunde_

_My little Rosy how I love you! Your mama will always be with you in spirit and goodwill, in all times and under all circumstances. You may not be able to see me but you will always feel my presence, blessing and support. You are seven years old now, so almost a young lady with the finest sensibilities and manners. I want you to continue to be a real lady always. A real lady doesn’t blame, gossip, spread malicious rumors or tell lies. She is the shining beacon of truth, of joy, a supporter and propagator of family togetherness and happiness. Your papa is your only family now, so always be there for him._

_He is a very kind man but also a lonely man. Someday you will understand why it’s hard for him to be happy. But until then, trust me when I say this, he is the best father you could ever have. I loved him with all my heart and to him I entrust you, my most precious thing. Promise me you will always be there for papa just as he will be there for you. Be a good, kind person, don’t cry for me but remember me as someone who’s not gone until I am forgotten. So as long as you don’t forget me you will have me, with you, always with you my love._

_Your mama, always proud of you!_

_Mary Watson_

Peter took a shuddering breath in and took out two photos from his wallet. He showed them to Rosy. “These toys I gifted you,” he whispered, “They belonged to your mama and me. See in this pic, we as kids, playing with them. Your mama looked just like you at her age. I was five years older than her and always protected her, until I had to go to the war. I was posted in the East and then taken prisoner, so I couldn’t return to England till 1948. Then……”

“Then what Uncle Peter?” Rosy asked innocently, eagerly.

The middle-aged man clutched the letter and wiped a stray tear away. Then he smiled down at her and patted her head, “Then you came. _My angel, my savior_. Thank you for showing me this letter and for stopping me from committing a despicable crime. You just gave me the greatest Christmas gift ever - you made me a better man.” He crouched on the ground with some effort, his condition not allowing him such movements easily. “Now listen to me carefully, everything will be fine.”

“They will?”

“Yes, I promise you that. I had come here with a different intention you see but over a period of time I realized I was wrong, I was looking at things differently from what I should. But I needed some confirmation of whether I was on the right track or not and you provided that to me, my little guardian angel. In return, this is the least I can do. You will never be an orphan, not with your amazing papa around!”

Rosie’s eyes were shining with joy. She put her small hands into the man’s much larger ones and placed a beautiful flower on it. “Thank you so very much, thank you Uncle Peter! This is the last bloom of this year, Malcolm told me I should have it but I feel you should. Here, all yours!”

***

Sherlock was asleep when that voice came to his ears, floating through his mind and cutting through his sleep. He had managed to fall asleep after hours of trying to console himself that someday he would be out and John might be waiting for him still, ignoring the snoring of the prisoner in the next cell and trying his best to discount the discomfiture caused by that hard bed. Greg had changed the sheets fortunately, providing him with fresh and clean sheets and pillows, but the overall hassles of being in a holding cell did weigh him down. So, he was very angry when he heard someone calling out to him, waking him from a sleep that hadn’t even reached the REM stage.

He saw a dark figure standing at the door of the cell. The door, which was closed when he fell asleep, was now open. Yes OPEN and the man was ushering him out with a gesture of his arm.

“Who the hell….. what do you want???” He got up with a jump, determined not to make the mistake of becoming a fugitive even if John had foolishly organized this strange rescue attempt. But the man had a revolver in his hand and he was pointing it at Sherlock, which made him realize this man might not be related to John at all. Then who could it be? Seeing no other way, he silently followed and walked past a couple of people, one was the cop on duty and the other one was the night orderly, both of whom were totally out cold with their heads on their desks.

He was taken towards a car, made to sit in it and another man drove while this one sat next to Sherlock and kept the gun trained on him. To his surprise, he was taken to a small cottage somewhere half-way between Worcester and Hallow, isolated and a few hundred meters from the highway. It had a small garden around it, uncared and unkempt. The fence had broken at one or two places. But when they entered the cottage, he found it was clean and habitable, had some furniture and…..

…… A group of men present.

“Jawn, Seb, Jim, huhhh….. Inspector Lestrade?” Sherlock was totally dumbfounded.

The man next to him said, “I got them here, as much against their will as you were forced to.”

“YOU???”

The same man stood there whom he had seen on the train, cane in hand, sunglasses off this time and revealing an unshaved and pale face. But he was wearing the same overcoat and boots as he wore on that train, only he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere. He seemed strangely calm and at peace, as if he had just attained some nirvana.

“Don’t ask me anything about this,” Greg said as Sherlock looked at him helplessly, hoping this was not some waking dream or a delusion of his. “I am as much of a prisoner here as you are,” the Inspector concluded with a scowl, “And I am warning you, whoever you are, you could be punished severely for this act of coercion and unauthorized use of a firearm. Getting a prisoner out of a holding cell, bringing a law officer somewhere against his will, subjecting civilians to a gunpoint kidnapping…..” But before he could finish, the mustached man raised his right arm and gave him a stern look, somehow making even the tough cop drop the words and stare at him in bewildered shock.

“No need to count them for me, I am well aware.”

“Then why did you do that?”

The question came from Sebastian who was looking at the man curiously, as if he had seen him somewhere, “Brigadier Morstan?”

This was the first time that the physically challenged man seemed a bit taken aback. He gave Sebastian Moran a piercing stare and asked, “Colonel Moran, yes, our paths crossed just once. When you were being awarded your gallantry medal. I was in the audience and I did congratulate you. I didn’t have a mustache or this cane then, I was in uniform, so it’s hard to recognize me.”

“But why would an ex-soldier, no doubt a man honorably discharged and retired, do something criminal like this?” John asked, shocked.

“More than that,” Sherlock sneered, “You were stalking us. For weeks you have been doing that. What do you want? Did you want to kidnap Rosy? If you do that, if you harm her in any way, I don’t care if you are lame or a soldier or whatever you are, I will kill you with my bare hands…… I swear…..”

“Calm down boy, everyone else, please calm down,” the man sat down on a chair, facing them, “I have brought you here against your wishes, I apologize for that. The men who helped me are all members of my former regiment, retired or honorably discharged like myself but still loyal to their leader. Forgive them as they were acting on command and directives.”

“As for Rosy,” he looked at John, “I don’t suppose one’s own uncle will harm or hurt, right?”

There was absolutely stunned silence in the room. Everyone stared at each other, astonished. Then back at the man who still had the gun in his hand. But he was not toting it like an assassin nor pointing it at them. However, by then the group were more inclined to hear his story than to get out of here.

“Please,” the man said, gesturing at one of his accomplices who had brought in coffee, “Please have some. I am aware it’s 3 am after all.”

People looked at each other. Jim was the first one to take the mug but before he could lift it to his mouth, Sherlock grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Take a sip first, will you,” he said, offering his mug to their abductor. The brigadier gave him a sardonic look, “If you knew where I stand, I wouldn’t hesitate to even drink something laced with a little poison.” But before Sherlock could ask something further he took the mug and gave Jim his own mug, sipping the hot liquid happily. By and by everyone else followed suit, the late hour, their nerves and the biting cold of the end of December warranting something warm. “The drink is spiked,” said Peter, making everyone gasp, “But with a little brandy. Not you though Lestrade. You are on duty I suppose.”

“Can you get to the point?” John asked through gritted teeth.

“I will. With pleasure. So, my full name is Brigadier Peter Christian Morstan. I am Mary’s elder brother John and I am aware of your friendship with her.”

“She told me about you too. A very idealistic picture. In some ways she was very thankful to you for going out of the way to provide her a stability that your parents didn’t really give you.”

“Yes. I am aware. She was my support and I was mine. As always, Mary has been a giver more than a taker and she appreciated me while leaving out those bits which shows her in the form of an angel. She too has been a savior for me, at some critical junctures, but alas when she needed me the most I was Missing in Action or MIA, held prisoner of war in Burma and unable to reach out to her. That was the time she was tortured and which forced her to…..”

He paused. John gripped the edge of his seat tightly. That was the episode that haunted them both, allowing that evil Viscount to rape and mishandle her repeatedly, that too as a pregnant woman, a convalescent new mother and later a helpless woman who had to bear it all to protect her offspring.

Noticing his obvious distress, Sherlock put his hand over John’s, giving it an assuring squeeze.

“You know there was a phase where she was upset, crying, when she wrote to me saying you were not ‘meant’ for her. I guessed what it might be and counseled her to protect your friendship. In a way it made me quite glad to know a gallant officer and doctor was there, with her. It made me feel she was not alone.”

“Thanks for letting us all know how you know John,” Sebastian said impatiently, “But in case you haven’t yet noticed, we are in the midst of a crisis where we’re trying to protect John who had to commit a crime of passion due to what was done to Mary and at the same time not let Sherlock suffer the sentencing that’s not his due.”

“Right,” Jim said, “I suppose we haven’t been summoned here at to learn a bit of backstory.”

“Patience is a virtue colonel, Mr. Moriarty,” Peter said evenly, not the least bit annoyed or insulted by their rude statements or caustic tone, “Anyways, I can assure you I haven’t wasted any of your time and you will soon thank me for organizing this meeting. I wanted everyone to be here, to learn the secret at the same time, the big revelation. There was no way I could have done it with some of you at home, one in jail and one in a police station. Left with no choice but to do this at the dead of the night and without your consent. I apologize. But there is something else I will NOT apologize for. _I am rather proud of it_ , I was even thinking I got away with it, until I realized my action had inadvertently hurt the only family I have left – Rosamunde.”

“Rosy,” John murmured “Yes of course, she is your niece.” 

“The only reason I was lurking around your property Captain…. Was her. I wanted to take her away with me. I wanted to raise her like a daughter, a duty and obligation I thought I owed to my dear sister Mary.”

“But she was already being cared for…..”

“At that point I didn’t know who you really were. You see, the picture I was given by the Viscount, the same monster who forced my sister to kill herself and once threatened my innocent newborn niece, also misled me. He made me believe you had forced her to commit suicide by refusing to acknowledge the child, by repeatedly promising marriage and backing off and even trying to harm her physically whenever she insisted.”

John was totally baffled and horrified. “Who me? ME? But I loved Mary.”

“I understood that as I kept an eye on your property and on Rosy. I realized I had got it all wrong. That was when I was actually glad that I had missed.”

“Missed what?” Sherlock was beginning to get the picture by then and, going by the realization blossoming on Jim’s face, so was Jim. Did this mean…..

“In the train,” the Brigadier replied.

“You were trying to kill the Viscount?” Greg asked, eyes wide.

“No,” Peter replied with more than a dollop of irony in his voice, “I was trying to kill John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked the twist! ;-)

**Author's Note:**

> I have done some research on the late forties and early fifties but a miss here and there might be possible. The places mentioned are imagined/author's perception but names are not fictitious.


End file.
